


you've got the right to remain right here with me

by unseeliekey



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (oh my god they were roommates), Coffee Shops, Concussions, Detectives, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Pining, Roommates, Self-Destruction, Slow Dancing, Smoking, That tag fully applies now, back on my dr shit, but be careful bc sad hours do be approaching, extremely homoerotic grand gestures i repeat get ready for grand homo gestures, hi theres too much dialogue here., i already have the second chapter written and will post as soon as im done with the third, i feel like you dont become a phantom thief if u dont have some self destruction issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 63,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseeliekey/pseuds/unseeliekey
Summary: Shuichi Saihara looks around the coffee shop, and as Kokichi shrinks back and tries to make himself look as unnoticable as possible, his gaze drifts to the pink jacket and his eyes light up.And perhaps crime really doesn’t pay, and karma is real and stealing from the rich is wrong and deserves punishment, because Shuichi Saihara walks right up to Kokichi’s table and, nervous in a way Kokichi has never seen him, says, “H-hey. Um, are you Ouma? Who wanted to look at the house?”“That’s me,” Kokichi says, a little breathlessly, feeling like he’s detached from his body.(Or, the phantom thief/roommate au you didn't know you needed.)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi & DICE, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, some background ones in the future probably
Comments: 382
Kudos: 1928





	1. Calling all cars, there's an officer down

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a phantom thief AU but I am also... soft. and i like secrets.
> 
> here's a bit of info about DICE/shuichi's job that you dont have to read, but might make things make a bit more sense. Lore, if you will.  
> Kokichi and DICE have been together for ages. Him and a few others ran away from a foster home (and were caught and brought back) but managed to stick together since. DICE gained more members slowly, mostly other kids who were struggling. Their ages range from 19-26 and they've all been together for at least ten years. Kokichi's the leader bc he was the one who talked them out of trouble and came up with plans the most (and he still is.) they do a lot of petty crime, but they only started getting into the really big grand larceny type theft in the last two years (initially so that one of them could escape an abusive home, and then they just really enjoyed the thrill). They mostly steal from shitty corporations and stuff, not because they're a political group (although that's certainly a part of it) but just because they prefer to steal from dickheads. They're really good at what they do.  
> Shuichi is a P.I., and kept mostly to himself taking minor cases, theft and infidelity and such, but simultaneously cracked cold cases. He was really good at it, because he had the patience and time to pursue them relentlessly, and also bc he's clever. He made a bit of a name for himself after solving a major one and was requested to help the investigation into the "thief of cards" (because he leaves a joker card at every hit). Shuichi's made great strides into tracking Kokichi, and was the one who figured out he had a team and linked him to the seemingly harmless pranksters of DICE, giving them a bit of notoriety. He's been pursuing the case for about nine months and has become the only person to ever actually speak with the thief of cards. He's great at his job. Kokichi's just one step ahead.

Kokichi _swears_ the rooftop has gotten steeper since he scoped out the place. 

Fingers hooked into a marked tile, he relies on his past self’s judgement as he pushes up, muscle memory reaching for the places he’d previously marked as sturdy. He doesn’t have the strength or the speed of the police- or of the average citizen who goes to the gym more than once a month, really. But he doesn’t need to. He’s smart, and he thinks ahead, and he always has at least six backup plans stashed up his sleeve, only some involving him faking his death. 

Art galleries are usually hard to climb, with their chic-modern shapes and smooth roofs and no windows, but this is a repurposed apartment building with that cute 1920s feel. And it doesn’t appear to have been maintained since the 20s, he thinks ruefully, accidentally kicking one of those shingles off as he hauls himself higher, trying not to listen for the fall.  
He kicks up, scrabbles in an unflattering way, and manages to haul himself up to the bridge of the roof, laying flat on his stomach as he catches his breath and then heaving himself up. He can still hear sirens whirring underneath him as he fumbles for his calculator-turned-makeshift-phone (thanks, Miu.) 

**spades: yo boss we’ve got eyes on you right now. head back to the east side of the building and aim for the library next door. then cross to the north side of that and we’ll be down there with the getaway car.**

Kokichi adjusts his mask, tightens his ponytail, and paces forward, arms hovering at his sides to help him keep his balance. He keeps about a foot from the edge when he looks down, and there it is- the library. His eyes flick to the steel sign propped up on the north side, and the rope he’d tied tightly to it when he made all the final checks last night. 

**fool: nice job, goons. looking good.**

“Perfect,” he mutters, taking a step back and framing the picture with his fingers, one eye squeezed shut behind the mask. And it is, because every crime he orchestrates is. Especially this one. This is his best yet, the police surrounding the gallery and scrabbling to figure out where he disappeared to, his white suit mild and unnoticable against the dull sky, his literally calling card left in the picture frame, a joker tucked into the display. Art theft truly is the sexiest crime, he thinks, and he’s just reached pornstar status. This painting would sell for a fucktonne. Or, it’ll sell for 200 to a guy in Holland who thinks he’s ordered a very convincing copy. That’s the best part about all of it.

He steps back again, glancing down at his own feet and back to the roof of the library. It’s a little lower than the gallery, so he’s got some leeway, and it’s not too far. He can make it. Sure, it’s a sixty foot drop if he misses, but he made it last night, and last weekend, and last thursday, and the very first time he scoped out this place. Kokichi’s not great at parkour, but he doesn’t need to be, because he’s planned this out to the finest detail, down to how far he can jump and the distance between these buildings- and they match perfectly.  
He tenses his legs, knees bent just slightly, takes a deep breath in as he prepares to run. Thinks about how dramatic the papers will make this out to seem. Bounces once in place, lets that breath out and then-

“Hold it!”

Kokichi’s foot is just about to leave the ground when he freezes. It’s a good thing he doesn’t completely lose his balance and fall right off the roof. Instead, he whirls around, cape flowing elegantly behind him, and brings a hand up to his mask to strike a dramatic pose. “Mister detective! What a surprise.”

It's not a suprise. He didn’t need to see the detective, wheezing a little, one hand holding up a trapdoor and the other pushing him up onto the roof, to know it was him. He didn’t need to recognize the voice, either; detective Saihara is the only person ever able to get remotely close to catching him. He never will, of course, but it’s fun to see him try. Kokichi keeps up his showbiz voice, low and a little dry, as he bows and tries not to fall. “Whatever brings you here?”

“Just out for a stroll," Saihara quips. Kokichi makes a mocking face behind the mask, lifting his hands to his head and wiggling his fingers, and the detective simply steps up from the trapdoor. "Return the painting,” Saihara says, standing up on the roof, one hand extended like a threat, or a promise. Like he’s offering his hand. It’s cute, really. Tragic. “I don’t think you’re prepared for the fight to get it back.”

No kidding, that’s why he’s sending it to Holland as soon as possible. Kokichi inspects his nails, although he knows his haughty expression is somewhat pointless behind the mask. “Oh, really? Is that what my beloved detective thinks of me? Am I nothing more than a petty thief to you?”

Saihara doesn’t rise to the bait, although he lowers his outstretched palm. “There are some very powerful people personally invested in that painting. I think your best move is to hand it over.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Kokichi reaches up to pat the canvas case slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t expect a detective to understand his reasoning- although, this one might. Saihara is special. Saihara is clever. Saihara thinks he can ‘get through’ to Kokichi in a truly endearing way. It’s the blind naivete that’s usually stomped out of anyone on the force before they get to join it- but Kokichi knows that Saihara is a P.I., one famed for a particularly tricky case he solved a while back and a number of cold cases he’s fixed, too. He knows that the local police dragged him onto their team because they couldn’t catch Kokichi.  
Of course, Saihara can’t, either, but he’s gotten close. Dangerously so, sometimes. He really is clever, you know? It’s like his mind was designed for figuring out traps and things. 

Saihara’s expression twists- like part of him is amused and part of him is terribly anxious. He’ll probably be in trouble if Kokichi gets away with this, huh. “Hand it over, and I won’t chase you.”

“Huh?? What a fascinating offer.” Not that he won’t turn him in, but he won’t chase. Interesting. “Where are you going to chase me to? I can’t see anywhere for me to go.” He glances about innocently, blinking big eyes behind his mask and raising his hands. 

“To the library next door, and then presumably down the rope or ladder you’ve set up on the opposite side of the premises, where you have your team waiting for you,” Saihara answers, his eyes blazing. Scary. 

“Nishishi, you got me.” Kokichi presses a finger to his lips- or at least, above his mask. “You know, this would be so much easier if you would just shoot me, mister detective.”

“I’m not going to do that,” he says, bitterly determined. “I believe we can resolve things peacefully.”

Kokichi steps forward, clasping his hands together. “You’re right!” He chirps, watching the detective stand his ground even as the feared phantom thief stalks closer. “And the best way to do that……..” He trails off, lets his words hang there, a moment of tension between them. The detective watches, too cautious to be hopeful, but almost smiling, never backing down even as Kokichi stalks closer, his dark hair shining in the moonlight…. “Is this!”

He whirls around and starts running, hears his heart pounding in his ears, leaps-

And feels his feet hit solid ground, shock running up his ankles. He can still hear his heart pounding, though (or is that footsteps behind him?) so he keeps running, sprints over to the north side of the building, to the big, obnoxious sign, grips the rope with his gloves and starts sliding, too hasty to rappel like he’d planned. The rope burns, even through his gloves, but it makes him feel alive. There's music playing in his head, thrumming through every part of his body. Fuck drugs. Kokichi has never felt more alive.

Kokichi looks up and sees his favourite detective sprinting after him, and he loosens his grip a little so he slides faster, sending a big grin up to Saihara. He can’t see it, (mask and all) but Kokichi likes to think he can sense it, anyway, with the way his handsome jaw tightens.  
“Toodles!” he calls, as the sound of his gang starts to pick up, DICE yelling up at him to hurry, spilling out of the car like real clowns, rushing over and telling him to jump, jump, hurry-  
So he does, and he feels four pairs of hands catch him and set him down with a little boost, yells at them to ‘go go go’ as he throws himself into the passenger seat. Diamonds, in the driver's seat, leans out of the window and watches for the van door to slam closed, as Kokichi watches their little detective continue to drop down that rope, and the second he feels the van door close and the vehicle shake, Diamonds is slamming down on the gas, and they take off, speeding down the alleyways to the night district, which isn’t too far from the snobby galleries and libraries if you know how to get there.

“Oh man,” Spades gasps, slinging his long arms around the back of Kokichi’s seat. “He was sliding right after you down that rope, I thought we might be screwed. Thanks for jumping, boss- did we catch you alright?”

“You did great,” Kokichi says, slipping into his regular voice, a little strained from all the showbiz. “And we got it!” He leans forward, easing the canvas bag sideways and passing it back so the others can look at it, and touch it, and admire it, because that’s what you fucking do with art, especially shitty modern pieces that are technically skilled but emotionally meaningless because some idiot artist looked at Van Gogh and took _great artists steal_ a little too literally. Not that Kokichi can’t relate. Heh.   
The atmosphere in the van is still tense, cooling down from panicked to excited as clown masks are lifted up and uniform straps are loosened and boots are kicked up against seats.

“Is this Banksy?” Hearts pipes up in the back, and is met with a smack in the back of the head from Ace. 

“No, you twit,” they say, but fondly. “It’s that son of the car production company’s boss- right? There was a big campaign about how they value art and whatever. It’s become a bit of a political slogan lately.” Next to her, Mage and Jack squish up together (not exactly subtle, those two) and look to Kokichi with expectant eyes, like kids waiting for their bedtime story. And who is he to turn them down?

“Hironaka corp understands the importance of creativity and utility,” Kokichi chimes in, eyes closed as he pictures the commercial. “That’s why we’re holding an art auction to support our new plan to bring art therapy to all our hardest workers.” He pauses, then lifts up his mask, craning his head back to grin at his lackeys. “Hardest meaning their white-collar workers, of course. It’s the most useless thing I’ve ever heard of.” Kokichi isn't stealing this as part of a political movement, although he's sure some newspapers will spin it that way. He steals stuff he likes, usually, or he steals stuff that he thinks is stupid. This painting falls into the latter category. 

Queen sighs, chin in her hand, leaning out the window. “I can’t believe people are dumb enough to support that.”

“I can,” her brother grins, earning himself an elbow in the ribs.

“Hey, hey,” Kokichi says, fond and not at all angry. “Easy back there, we don’t want to distract our lovely getaway driver. And we’ve still got to figure out a way to smuggle this thing out, remember?”

Next to him, Diamonds sends him a sharp grin as she turns into the motorway, and clicks up a gear as the others dissolve into plans.

\--

Kokichi flies into his weekly coffee meeting with the ends of his hair still smouldering. (Not arson related, unfortunately. He had a bad morning. Hair curler machine broke. On top of everything else, too.) He slams open the door of the cafe and announces to his friends, as well as several bewildered customers; “I need a new place to live.”

“Good god, Kokichi, did you burn your house down?”

The cafe staff, used to his antics and buttered up by the handsome Rantaro, roll their eyes and ignore him as he crosses over to join his friends at their usual table. One of them’s already ordered him his classic salted-caramel-whipped-cream-double-chocolate mocha, which he sips gratefully, all eyes on him. He enjoys the attention, he really does, but his heart is still running three miles an hour, angry and bitter and a little panicked, though he won't admit it.  
“No,” he says, setting the cup down and pretending he has no idea that everyone is staring at him, giving his most charming smile. “I got evicted.”

Miu, Rantaro, and Kiibo all stare at him with the same look- disappointed, concerned, a little bit taken aback, trying to pretend they don’t find it funny because that’ll just encourage him. Don’t worry, guys. Kokichi has excellent comic delivery, it’s not your fault. Outside of DICE, these are the closest things he has to friends, excluding Gokuhara, the man who works at Kokichi’s favourite board game cafe and is a little too insistent about fattening him up and showing him various bugs. Gonta would probably put him up for a few days, actually, now that he thinks about it. That's something worth considering.

Silently, Miu reaches into her wallet and passes over a collection of notes to Kiibo. Rantaro does the same.

Kokichi pouts, tears forming in his eyes. It's easy- widen your eyes, don't blink, pretend to be sad so much that you convince yourself. “Did you really bet on when I’d get evicted? Guuuuyyys. You're so mean.”

“You’re an awful tenant and you’re always doing… weird… stuff,” Kiibo says evenly. “The last time I visited your flat I found several bulk bags of sugar and twenty cans of purple spray paint.”

“I already told you, those were vital to the plans of my super-secret evil organization,” Kokichi argues, and it’s true. Sugar stops concrete from setting, and it would have been impolite not to inform the construction crew what had happened. Right on top of their progress on the new shopping center, in bright purple. That was a good one. He makes a mental note to see if he can find anymore shitty companies to inconvenience. He's not a hero, he just wants an excuse to bother someone, and rich people make it _so_ easy.

Miu rolls her eyes, speaking around her paper straw and blowing bubbles in her milkshake. Gross. Enjoy your spit in that drink, Iruma. (Not that he doesn't do exactly the same thing the minute he's given a straw, only with more vigor.) “You’re such a dirty liar. You don’t have enough charm to make ten friends, let alone ten thousand.”

“You wound me, Miu. And it’s twenty thousand, actually.”

“Last time you said-”

“I know what I said, slut.”

Miu swoons, slumping back in her chair in a way that’s meant to be a joke but kind of unfortunately has an element of truth to it about her kinks. She’s sad, really, getting off on her gay “shota-bitch cuck ass” friend calling her names over the coffee shop. Kokichi’s into some pretty weird stuff too, so he shouldn’t judge. Like arson and never being physically intimate (vulnerable, it’s a nice word for vulnerable) with anyone, ever.

Rantaro sighs heavily, stirring his coffee and looking out into the distance. “Where are you going to hole up, Kokichi?”

“Mm, not sure. I may have technically violated the lease so I’ve only got a few days to get my shit together.” Kokichi takes a sip of his drink. “I’ll probably stay with one of the fifty thousand members of my organization.”

“So, you’ve got nowhere to go.”

Kokichi makes a face into his cup, whipped cream foaming against his nose. “You don’t know that,” he mumbles.

It’s true, though. It’s true. He _can_ stay with anyone in DICE, sure, but most of them are either living in shitty, really strict leases, out of their van, or used to squat with him. They’ll have to go back to squatting now, probably. Shit. It was really nice, having an apartment for a while. He’d got a job, a while back, nothing big, just helped design a video game for one of Kiibo’s friends and he’d been paid, like actually paid. Not well, of course, but it was enough to afford that shitty flat. He’d crowed over it a bit too much, had every member of DICE staying over for a week until his landlord got fed up, and it was shitty and full of mould but it was his, and he went to sleep in the same place every night and it was great, it really was. 

But old habits die hard, so Kokichi turns to Miu and flutters his eyelashes. “Please, pretty Miu, could I stay with you for an eensy-beensy little while? Two days, I promise. It’ll be like a sleepover! It’ll be fun. My darling lovely Miu, please let me-”

“Alright, jesus, as long as you stop talking to me like that,” she mumbles, pulling at her own hair, face red. Poor, gross Miu. “If you do anything fucked up or my landlord complains, though, you’re out.”

He draws an X over his heart. “Scout’s honor!”

Kiibo mumbles something about preparing ahead of time for his turn. Kokichi has squatted with each of his friends before. They’re such pushovers, really. They should probably put their foot down on his shit. Rantaro’s tried to have talks with him before, about taking charge of his life and improving it and all that, and Kokichi had nodded the whole time and secretly thought _I’m more famous than you.  
_ It’s a trial, it truly is, living such a double life. They bicker, like usual, and order a few more drinks and a cake to split, kind of as an apology for taking up so much space and time in the shop. Kokichi can’t help it, though. After a while, he directs the conversation to- well, himself.

“Did you read the Grapefruit today? Apparently some big ol' painting got stolen on the weekend.”

Miu frowns. “Yeah, that’s like old news. I would have thought you knew that, being so up that thief’s ass.”

“He’s basically my idol!” Kokichi chirps, balling his hands into fists. 

Kiibo snorts, taking a sip of his lemonade in an elegant, yet truly stiff and awkward manner. “I’m sure he’d be flattered to hear a chronic shoplifter such as yourself saying that.”

“Cruel, cruel. You’re so cruel.” Kokichi sobs as his friends tune him out.

Miu flips back her hair. “Apparently that detective has drafted a theory about where the painting’s gonna turn up. He’s real clever, isn’t he? And hot, to boot. Have you seen those eyelashes? Do you think you would feel them on your-”

Kokichi’s tears dry up almost instantly and he tunes Miu out as soon as she stops talking about useful stuff. He hadn’t read that. It should be fairly impossible, right? They went to a lot of work making themselves untrackable, which should also make them unpredictable. Ace was literally smuggling it into Europe disguised as another painting. They were selling it as a copy for 200…. Dutch money, allegedly on an etsy store that they'd established and had been selling actual fakes off for a while now. They'd already fake shipped it, before the painting had actually been stolen, and the store says it's based in Taiwan. There is no way to track that painting. Saihara’s talking out of his ass. 

Suddenly, Rantaro’s hand smacks the table, and they all jump, except Kokichi, who only blinks. “I know somewhere Kokichi can stay!” He says all of a sudden, his eyes lit up.

“With you?” Kokichi asks, tilting his head.

“No, dumbass. My friend, Kaede, she’s got this other friend-”

“Who has a cousin, who has a stepmother, who has-”

“Shut it, Kiibs. Anyway.” Rantaro gives them a sharp grin, curling his hand under his chin. “She’s got this friend who’s roommate completely bailed on him and he’s in a really tight spot, because the place he’s staying is super nice and he super can’t afford it, but it’s sentimental to him so he doesn’t want to leave but he really, really needs another roommate. He’s willing to pay, like, two thirds of the rent, he just needs help for the last bit of it.”

Kokichi considers this. A sublease is not ideal. Neither is rooming with a stranger he’s never met. But it sounds like this guy is desperate, which could work for him, and it is a good deal. “How nice are we talking?”

“Uh, nice. Two floors, two bedrooms- the spare one has an ensuite.”

Immediately, Kokichi’s eyes light. “Does it lock?”

“I would presume so.” Rantaro rubs the back of his neck, with the odd look in his eyes he sometimes gets when he thinks he knows something Kokichi doesn’t. Kokichi hates that look. “I think it would work really well for you.”

He thinks about it. Taps his fingers on the table. “Give me this friend’s number."

\--

Only two days later, right when Kokichi has been kicked out and forced to stash all his belongings in Diamonds’ van, he’s back in the same coffee store, tapping his fingers on the table in a totally non-anxious manner, wearing an obnoxiously neon-pink jacket that he told Kaede to tell her boy to look out for. Miu’s already promised that he can stay with her tonight if they need some time before moving in, or if the guy’s a dick or the house sucks or whatever. He really hopes it works out, though. Kaede, Rantaro’s friend, so-nice-it’ll-make-you-sick, had sent him a bunch of pictures and it looks… well, nice. Right up his alley. The sort of old-fashioned place that’ll be super cool to hang neon lights from and brightly-colored blankets. Plus, the rent is good. Great, even. This guy is seriously desperate to be offering something like that.

Kokichi just hopes he doesn’t have any other, nicer roommates lined up. 

**unsaved number: Hi, god I’m so sorry but I’m running late! Work dragged me in early this morning and I didn’t expect it. Thought I could get away earlier, but I’ll be a bit late. Twenty minutes, I think? I am so sorry!**

**unsaved number: Oh, this is your potential roommate, by the way. I asked Kaede for your number.**

**you: alg**

Kokichi lets out a heavy sigh and tilts his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling. He taps his fingers on the table again. Great. It’s fine, he’ll just wait here and be anxious for a while longer. It’s fine.  
Half an hour later, he’s through six of his usual mochas and is incredibly jittery, when the bell above the door to the cafe jingles. Kokichi looks up, as he had ever single time it’s done that, and he freezes.  
Because he knows that person, the way their gaze scans the crowd of people, the way they step through the door, the way their brow crinkles, always a little worried. He even recognizes how they smile at the barista who greets them, open and encouraging and a little amused, in a way that makes you, irrational as it is, want to tell him everything.

Shuichi Saihara looks around the coffee shop, and as Kokichi shrinks back and tries to make himself look as unnoticable as possible, his gaze drifts to the pink jacket and his eyes light up.

And perhaps crime really doesn’t pay, and karma is real and stealing from the rich is wrong and deserves punishment, because Shuichi Saihara walks right up to Kokichi’s table and, nervous in a way Kokichi has never seen him, says, “H-hey. Um, are you Ouma? Who wanted to look at the house?”

“That’s me,” Kokichi says, a little breathlessly, feeling like he’s detached from his body. 

Saihara sits down, taking off the cap on his head, a long string of hair flicking up, a stubborn cowlick. Kokichi’s never been this close to him. His eyelashes are so long. He’s at least half a foot taller than him, probably more, and he smiles nervously, running his fingers through his hair like he wasn’t informing Kokichi just a few days ago, stern and decisive and righteous, that he wouldn’t chase him if he handed the painting over. Detective Saihara, who has been chasing him for almost a year, who is brilliant and brave and leaped over a twelve story building just last weekend, awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and says, shy as a schoolboy on a first date, “it’s good to meet you. I, um. I like the jacket.” A laugh that is somehow even more awkward.

Kokichi’s mouth works on autopilot, which is probably something he should shut off before he says anything stupid. “I thought it was suitably obnoxious. Wanted to let you know who you were dealing with.” He leans back, folding his arms behind his head. Warning signs flash through his head- abort abort abort abort. Will Saihara recognize the glint of his hair, even in warm light and out of its thieving ponytail? Is his voice too nasally to ignore? Is his body language too obvious, his silhouette too short?

Saihara blinks, surprised and a little concerned, and then he laughs again, ducking his head to muffle the sound. He drips with insecurity, so contrary to the detective Kokichi has known. “Ah, is that so…? I appreciate the forewarning, then.”

“You should. It’s more than I usually give.”

Saihara hesitates, clearly looking at the empty plate and coffee cup in front of Kokichi. He winces, just glad that they’ve been clearing his side of the table every time he buys a new drink. “I’m s-sorry I kept you waiting,” the detective says, suddenly stammering over it. “I really didn’t mean to, I’ve just been swamped at work.”

“It’s no problem,” Kokichi says. It is probably his fault that Saihara was late. Also, having the detective whimper and fidget in front of him is getting increasingly bizarre. Does he secretly have social anxiety or something? How did this man become a detective? How does he face any criminals?

“Still…. I’m sorry. It’s probably not the best way to begin a relationship- um, I mean. As roommates. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“You apologize a lot,” Kokichi cuts in, almost without meaning to. Once again, Saihara blinks at him.

“Ha… I guess I do. I was about to apologize again just then.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “Ah, I’m going to go and order some food, because I missed breakfast. Can I get you anything?”

“Cake,” Kokichi answers immediately, because he will never turn down free food. He pulls a sweet smile, batting his eyelashes. “It’s sooo kind of you to offer. You’ve got my heart all a-flutter, over here.”

“Um.” Saihara goes red, staring across the table like Kokichi grew a second head. 

Well, he decides, on the bright side, he doesn’t have to worry about blowing this. Because it’s already blown. He can be as obnoxious as he wants, because there is no way he’s rooming with Saihara. He might as well just full on expose him to Kokichi’s regular, not-hidden-under-a-thief’s-demeanour, personality. So he laughs and inspects his fingernails, childish to haughty in under a second. “But that was just a lie. I’m a liar, you know. I can talk my way into anything, and out of it, too.”

“Is that why you got evicted?”

Kokichi looks over, his carefully-crafted mask slipping into a blank expression as he decides how to respond. Saihara’s stuttering is gone, replaced with a neutral, almost kind question, the flush on his cheeks dyed down to barely there pink. There’s something like a smile on his face, not a smirk but a friendly exchange. Like they’re friends. 

Kokichi grins again, twirling a strand of hair in his fingers. “That was sly. I might have to have you killed for that.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head to the side, and Kokichi can see a sliver of the detective in his eyes, light and layered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was messing with someone so dangerous.”

“Hmph! You couldn’t tell from my intimidating aura? I’m hurt, I truly am. My criminal organization-” For just a moment he freezes up, wondering if this might not be the best lie to tell. Just for a moment, and then he’s back into it, smiling lazily, believing every word he says. “Of one thousand members will be coming for you, sir.”

“All one thousand of them?”

Saihara thinks he’s funny, thinks he’s being playful. Kokichi narrows his eyes. “Yes.”

And then Saihara laughs, like he’s- charmed, or something, like this is the sort of behavior he’d want to live with, like he thinks he won’t get sick of it in the first few hours of Kokichi staying with him. “Well then, I’m terribly sorry to have offended you so greatly. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Get on your knees and slit your stomach,” Kokichi says, back to his haughty presentation. Saihara just smiles.

“How about cake and a coffee?”

Kokichi pulls at his bottom lip. He needs to scare Saihara off before he has to turn down the offer himself. He can’t be suspicious- but Saihara doesn’t look suspicious, either. Surely he’s off duty. Surely he wouldn’t expect to find his master phantom thief in a coffee shop, looking for cheap rent and twiddling with his hair. “Okay.”

Saihara nods and goes up to order, and Kokichi watches his back for a few seconds and then sends a series of cryptic but panicked texts to his gang. And then one to Rantaro, for good measure.

**you: you whore bitch you didnt tell me he was FAMOUS**

Rantaro replies almost immediately, and Kokichi’s lip curls at the response.

**simp bitch: haha, i thought it’d be funny considering you follow his cases so religiously. he’s really nice though, i’ve met him a few times. i think he’d be good company for you!**

Kokichi doesn’t bother to give that a response, instead shoving his phone in his jacket pockets and watching Saihara return with one of the table numbers. When he sits down, he pulls off his cliche detective trench coat and drapes it over his seat, rolling up the cuffs on his neat black sleeves. 

“So,” Saihara says, resting his wrists on the table- pianist’s hands, all long fingers and thin wrists, joints out of place like a doll strung with string. “My name is Saihara Shuichi. You- you can call me Shuichi, though, that’s fine. I brought some pictures of the place, though-”

“I’ve already seen it. Wow, didn’t you know even that?”

Saihara turns pink again, the color blooming high in his cheeks, sinking over his nose. “I- I know, I just thought…. It seemed polite.” He pauses. “I haven’t done this before, sorry. I asked my landlord but he was no help, said it was my business to find a roommate or get out.”

“He sounds like a prick.” Kokichi fiddles with the spoon in his empty cup, staring down at it. “Don’t know if I want to deal with that.”

“Oh, you won’t have to! He drops by once a month, and since I’m the primary name on the lease and I’ve been living there before, I can deal with him.” Saihara’s quick to stammer an answer, like he really is desperate for Kokichi to agree. “I’m used to it by now.”

That does strike his curiousity, and Kokichi releases the spoon, glancing up at Saihara through his eyelashes. “How long have you lived there, anyway?”

“Um, almost my whole life,” Saihara laughs, the sound soft in his throat. “I grew up with my uncle, and he never wanted to live anywhere else. He loved that old apartment, and I…” He rubs the back of his neck again. Kokichi wonders if there’s an old scar there, a knife wound from a serial killer or an unfaithful lover. “I mean to buy it, one day. I’m saving up, but until then, the rent isn’t exactly cheap.

Ah, a sob story. Touching. Saccharine, really, sweet as anything. He bets Saihara is an orphan, too, and his uncle was the only one who ever loved him. “So you’re doing this for your uncle?” He’s probably dead.

“Ah, well- I love it too, I mean- it’s in a really nice spot, and it’s- I’ve got a lot of fond memories, and it really is beautiful. It’s just- I mean, I probably could afford the rent, but it would cut into my savings, and- look, having someone else around is really.” Saihara’s fingers curl up at the nape of his neck, and he stops in his sentence, like someone tugged on his reins and pulled his breaks. “It’s helpful, I guess. I mean, I’m not- not expecting anything, we don’t have to be friends, I just… I get a bit caught up in work, sometimes. It’s good to know that there’s someone else around.”

Their food arrives, giving Kokichi some time to answer. Saihara chose a really nice cake for him, all strawberry glaze and white chocolate balls and three-tiered, even if it’s tiny. It was probably expensive, with all that decoration. He digs his spoon into it. “I spend a lot of time out of the house,” he says. “And I do a lot of craft projects, too. They can get really messy. Sometimes fire is involved.”

“That’s- that’s great!” Kokichi looks up to see Saihara’s eyes practically shining, his hands cupped around his mug. “Really, I- I want to make new memories in there. My first roommate, ah- she was my friend, actually, but one day she spilled this awful mix of vodka and melted gummy bears all over the carpet, and I thought I would be mad but I wasn’t. I’ve still hid the stain from the landlord to this day, because having it there was… it was nice. Seriously, craft projects… that’s awesome. Sounds like a good distraction.”

Kokichi searches his face for any sign of a lie. Maybe Saihara really is desperate. But he doesn’t find a trace of anything, except the honest insanity of anyone who would have the guts to offer Kokichi free reign like that. What is with this guy?  
“Your friend is an idiot,” he says. “Everyone knows that gummy bears dissolve in vodka. Jelly shots- now that’s the way to go.”

Saihara pulls a face and laughs at the same time. It’s surprising how endearing that looks. “Urgh, no thank you. I hate jelly in general, but those shots are the worst. I haven’t had one since university, and I plan to keep it that way.” He pauses. “Speaking of, Ouma-kun, how old are you?”

“Three hundred and twelve,” he answers. Saihara gives him a Look that is surprisingly similar to Rantaro’s, and Kokichi just grins. “Or twenty four. Or twelve. You’ll never guess which one!”

Saihara nods, smiling again. “I’m twenty four, too,” he replies, taking a sip of his coffee- which smells a bit like caramel, from Kokichi’s side of the table, so he has _some_ taste, even if it doesn’t have any milk in it. 

“What, really?” Kokichi’s mind flicks back to the interviews he’s read with detective Saihara, the pieces on his chase for Kokichi. They call him a young genius, some mention of him being a prodigy, working at his own agency before joining the police. “And you’re out of university?” He asks, careful not to give anything away.

Saihara looks embarrassed, his eyes darting to the floor. “I, ah, began at a young age. And finished quickly. It was around then I… had some personal stuff going on, so I kind of threw myself into it.” He chuckles. “Some of my friends are still studying, and they hold it over my head a bit.”

“I’ll say.” He supposes that Saihara wouldn’t have had to go through… police training, or whatever, if he was requested to assist the force. “What’s your degree in?”

“I majored in criminal justice and minored in psychology,” Saihara answers, still seeming flustered. “I, ah- I work as a private investigator, at the moment.” 

Kokichi’s big mouth gets ahead of him, and his eyes widen without his permission, and his stupid compulsive brain has got him leaning over the table. “Ohhh, I thought I recognized you from somewhere!” Says the stupid part of him that thinks this is fun, that likes danger, that wants to poke the sleeping dog. “You’re after that thief right now, aren’t you!”

Saihara’s face turns positively crimson as he nods, still staring at the floor. 

“You haven’t caught him yet, have you?” Kokichi asks sweetly.

That gets him to lift his head, predictably defensive. “He’s a genius. We’re not going to catch him if we don’t start adjusting our strategies.”

Well, that was a little unexpected. But Kokichi can’t help from poke, poke, poking, sliding a hand under his head to lean into it, other finger pressing against his mouth. “Eh? What do you mean?”

“Ah.” Saihara blinks twice, then looks away again. “I probably shouldn’t talk about it. Work drama, really, just… probably confidential.” He still seems angry at something, though, his hands tense around the edge of the table. 

“Sounds stressful.” Kokichi inspects his nails again. Rantaro’s design is chipping off them, black crackle polish over a shimmery purple base, because Kokichi is fourteen at heart. 

Saihara sighs, lifting his mug again. “The office drama is worse than the actual work. I work from home whenever possible to avoid it- actually, that reminds me. I’m not taking cases at the moment because I’m focusing on, um, the thief of cards-” he says Kokichi’s moniker all in a rush, like he’s flustered by even mentioning the case, “but I used to use the place as a base for taking cases, so there’s a sort of lounge with a coffee bar on the first floor, and the study’s down there, too. There’s a lot of confidential stuff in there, but I’m happy to move it if you’d like to work there, too. I’m usually there for most of the morning, except when I’m called in, but there’s room for two people and I keep out of it most of the time, so-”

“No, that’s fine. I’m not a very studious person. Lock up all your confidential stuff in there.” Kokichi doesn’t mention that he can pick pretty much any lock. He’s generous like that, letting Saihara sleep soundly without knowing Kokichi could go through anything he liked. Hold on, shouldn't he be scaring him off?

“That’s great, thank you. There’s one kitchen, but I’m, ha, not much of a chef, so I’m usually not in it for long. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge and cupboards. Your room has an ensuite, but there’s another bathroom downstairs. And then there’s my bedroom, which is the blue door, and a guest room. I don’t mind if you invite people over, but I’d appreciate some warning in advance.”

It’s a pretty good setup. It’s a great setup, actually. Generous, even. And Saihara is nice, unfortunately. “Well, you drive a hard bargain, Saihara-chan.”

“Saihara-chan…?” The detective trails off, staring at the beatific smile Kokichi gives him. “Does that mean you’ll take it?”

“I’d have to be pretty stupid to say no to all that,” he laughs, as if he isn’t even stupider for saying yes. 

Saihara’s eyes light up. “Great! Great. That’s great. I’m, ah. I’m looking forward to it. When do you think you can move in?”

“Today?” It’s a joke, but Saihara just seems more excited.

“Really? Awesome. Here, I’ll give you the address- just swing round and I’ll get the lease and keys for you while we’re there.” He fumbles for a pen, then, leaning over the table, scrawls an address out on Kokichi’s wrist. It’s up by the city library, by the gallery he robbed only a few days ago, by the shopping district and the city park. It’s a great place to live, really. Saihara’s fingers are cold. He must have bad circulation.

Kokichi pops the last of the cake in his mouth and stands up, stretching. “Well, I’ll see you there in a few hours, I suppose. I’ll have to get my stuff together, but I’m eager to see this en suite. Just kidding. I don’t care.”

Saihara blanches, but then grabs his wrist again as Kokichi reaches for his wallet. Kokichi raises an eyebrow, and he blushes. “Ah, no, I just- I already paid.”

“Gotta pay for the drinks I had before you showed up, buckaroo,” Kokichi informs him. Saihara flushes.

“No, I- I paid for those too.”

Kokichi stares at him for a long moment. He ordered six highly-complicated drinks before Saihara arrived. They’re not exactly cheap. And Saihara just paid for them, like that, before Kokichi even said yes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me.” Saihara splutters, the red on his face now as familiar as his determined glare. Kokichi smiles like he would behind his clown mask. “Just kidding. I’ll see you soon, Saihara.”

“Wait?” He says it like a question.

Kokichi, already half-way through the coffee shop, turns slowly. “What?”

“Can I… Can I get a first name? For the lease, I mean-”

It’s a bad idea to give the detective chasing him his full name. He knows it. It’s almost as bad an idea as actually living with him. 

“Ouma Kokichi! Stick that under your pillow, handsome!”

Fuck. 

Kokichi leaves before he can see Saihara’s blush again.

\--

“I fucked up,” Kokichi informs Diamonds as he swings into her flat. Diamonds hates the place, but lives there because it has free parking and the owner doesn’t ask questions about her swapping license plates every week. Kokichi takes in the warmth of the room, decorated like a boy scout’s home. He spots Spades over on the couch with her, both of them curled up in blankets and hammering away at the buttons on their controllers- neither yelling, both staring in utmost concentration.

Diamonds and Spades both look up from their game (Mario kart, it looks like), with equal expressions of concern. “God, boss, you sent us like ten texts about how you were going to die. We were freaking out!” Diamonds says, sounding affronted.

“Well why didn’t you come rescue me, huh?” He accuses them, pointing as Spades pauses the video and turns over to grab their phone, probably sending out some mass text about how Kokichi is actually fine.

“Because we knew you were meeting that roommate person, and you didn’t send a location which is what you would have done if you were actually in trouble, and also you’re an overdramatic bitch,” Diamonds replies, slicking back her hair. 

“You are a terrible underling,” he informs her. “Just the worst. I can’t believe I place my life in your hands every week.”

“If you want to learn how to drive, be my guest,” she informs him. “Oh, sorry. I forgot you were gay.”

“Cruelty,” Kokichi moans, flopping onto the couch and burying his face into its squishy, old cushions. It still smells a bit like a second hand store. “Spades, you still love me, right?”

“Of course, boss!” Spades, youngest member of their gang and resident prodigy child turned burnout, reaches over to pat Kokichi’s head. “Don’t worry, the rest of us respect you. Diamonds just likes being bossy.”

“I respect him,” Diamonds says, her voice floating through the room. “Fool is the smartest guy I know, and a brilliant thief, and a brilliant leader. It’s _because_ I respect him that I’m mean to him. I’m like his advisor, when it comes to real life and not thievery.” Kokichi lifts his head to watch her smirk at him, in her bomber jacket and her cool boots. “You know I’d follow you to the edge of the world,” she sings.

“Yeah, yeah. One day I’ll send you to the gulags,” he tells her, lifting a threatening finger and then letting it fall back into the couch. He owes Diamonds a lot, really. He owes all of them.

He cannot fuck this up.

Spades shuffles closer. “What happened, boss?” He’s nineteen and almost a foot taller than him, but he still sounds like a kid to Kokichi, who remembers when he was nine and alone and had his face covered in dirty bandages. Kokichi gives him a smile, and his mask must slip a little, because Diamonds sets her controller down.

“I met my roommate today,” he begins. “I’m moving in… well, as soon as I get my stuff, actually.”

“That’s good,” Diamonds says, her I’m-older-than-you voice coming in. “I’ll drive you.”

“It’s Saihara.”

Both Spades and Diamonds stare at him like they haven’t quite made the connection. 

“My roommate is detective Saihara.”

All three of them stare at each other, like they’re all looking for one of them to offer assurance, or to say it’s unacceptable, or something, but all that happens is, after that pause hangs just a second too long, they all start laughing.

“You’re joking,” Spades gasps, then disappears back into a bubble of laughter, snorting as he tries to catch his breath. 

“I swear to god it’s true, Fool’s honor,” Kokichi says, crossing his heart and then bursting into uncontrollable snickers again. “I thought he was going to arrest me as soon as he stepped in.”

“Oh my god- oh my god-” Diamonds is clutching at her stomach as she doubles over, her other hand clenched in her crew cut. “Oh my god.”

Kokichi laughs until his stomach hurts, until he’s lying there exhausted and breathless, and the whole situation is too funny to be anxious about anymore.

“What’s he like?” Spades asks, a little starry-eyed. Kokichi cuffs his head gently.

“Don’t go admiring the enemy, now,” he says, but fondly. “He was… really awkward, actually.”

“Really?” Diamonds laughs some more, legs sprawling out and open. “The great detective Saihara. That man has been in my nightmares, boss.”

“Well, he shouldn’t be. I think he has social anxiety.” Kokichi wheezes out another snicker at the thought of the face Saihara made when he was flirted with. That man does not have the confidence to be in _anyone’s_ nightmares. Let alone Diamonds’, who could probably step on him and he’d apologize.

Spades giggles a little, brown hair flopping over his eyes. “It was probably just you, Fool. You make quite the first impression.”

“Hell yeah I do.” Kokichi folds his arms behind his head and grins, thinking of what else to tell. “Oh, he’s also like…. The ideal sugar daddy, if either of you are in the market. He paid for everything. I ordered six coffees before he showed up and he paid for those too!”

“Maybe he has a crush on you!” Diamonds teases, her eyes sparking. “He saw a 5’1 runaway walk in and was like, that’s my type, that’s my type, that’s my type-”

Kokichi cuts her off before she can keep singing. A lesser man would have blushed, but unlike Saihara, Kokichi is in complete control of every expression that crosses his face. “No, I’m serious, homeboy was like…. So anxious. It was uncanny. I kept waiting for him to get all stern and try and arrest me again.” Kokichi sits up, lifts his shoulders, and puts on his best Detective Saihara voice. “Fool, I’ve tracked you down to this cafe. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you? Now get in the pokey.” He switches back to his own voice and jumps up, screeching. “He’ll never take me alive!”  
Spades and Diamonds watch as he runs around the room, screaming and pretending to battle an invisible assailant, until he leaps over the back of the couch and slides in between them, grinning. Both break into polite applause as he bows, Diamonds throwing in a wolf-whistle for good measure. 

“Are you seriously going to live with him?” She asks after a beat, when Kokichi is staring at the carpet and trying to think about what angle he’s going to play.

He shrugs. “What’s the worst that could happen?”


	2. shot through the heart on a night on the town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re too clever for your own good,” Kokichi remarks. He can hear footsteps down a nearby street. Saihara offers a bowed head, mockingly. “And someone as clever as that… knows you aren’t going to catch me tonight, right?”
> 
> “I certainly hope I do,” Saihara says, evenly. “Because I think I’m the only person who’s going to take you to a hospital. Do you plan on fixing those yourself?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your comments! yall are so sweet, it really made me want to get this out.... and made me add like, a lot more than i planned. you're so kind and im emo about it. ily.
> 
> ALSO: minor tw here, for kokichi (who else) there's a scene where kokichi plays the knife game, but due to his thinking pattern it's kind of used as a self harm mechanism. if that could be triggering, please skip from: "Kokichi is extremely bored." to ""If you get fired, it's not my fault.""  
> also kind of a tw for this whole chapter for self-destructive tendencies, which i *should* have tagged. (im a bit drunk, sorry)

Kokichi has been living with detective Saihara for a week and it has been an interesting experience. The way he justifies this, to DICE, is that he’s keeping tabs on the enemy. Look at it this way; Kokichi knows who he’s rooming with. Saihara doesn’t. He’s set up with a significant advantage here, and it would be foolish not to make use of it.

So far he’s learned that Saihara likes routine. Saihara hangs up his trench coat in the same place every day. Saihara doesn’t have a television, because he likes watching things on his laptop. He’s practically glued to that laptop. He’s incredibly neat, except for his notes, which he leaves scattered everywhere. Kokichi reads them, of course, and most of them are related to his hobby with cold cases- he supposes Saihara does try to keep confidential things locked up. But he finds notes about himself, sometimes, lists of places he might go, things he might steal. Saihara makes a lot of lists, but he has a really good memory. Saihara is anxious and withdrawn, but once you get him talking, he’s a great conversationalist. Saihara is semi-fluent in English and knows a little Mandarin, too. Saihara, despite saying he’s not much of a cook, makes himself dinner every night- usually simple things, like ramen or stir fry or tossed salads, and he always makes enough for Kokichi as well. After a while, Kokichi starts helping in the kitchen, just to make sure Saihara’s using enough flavor. Kokichi never feels guilty about accepting ‘help’, because it’s never help. It’s assistance, it’s servitude. Kokichi doesn’t feel fond of a detective for cooking him soup and heating it up when he comes home late and tired.  
As soon as Saihara buys the apartment and controls his own lease, he’s getting a cat. Saihara doesn’t like milk or sugar in his coffee, but always adds caramel syrup instead. He drinks a lot of coffee. He smokes, too, not every day, but sometimes when he gets back from schmoozing with the other investigators and looks simultaneously exhausted and inspired. He likes wine and whiskey, but hates beer. He’s always interested in Kokichi’s day, in Kokichi’s life, and seems not to mind being lied to. (Though perhaps he just likes figuring it out. Making more work for himself.) 

He would make a great member of DICE, Kokichi thinks when he’s lying in bed and still remember how Saihara had laughed until water came out his nose at an honestly bad joke Kokichi had made at dinner. If they’d met when they were younger, if Saihara didn’t have a house and plenty of money and work for the actual cops. If DICE were still taking members, which it isn’t. (They’re out of card names. Mage was already a stretch to make fit.)

“Hey, Ouma.”

Kokichi looks up from his phone, gives Saihara a wave, and quickly finishes his text to Ace before he tosses it aside. “Wow, you look like shit. What happened?”

Exhausted Saihara hangs up his cliche detective coat and sighs. Ooh, he’s even loosening his top button. Truly, we are getting raunchy today. (Kokichi has a theory that Saihara is a nevernude. Case A: he wears actual pajamas. To bed. Who does that? Actual matching striped pajamas. Who is this man??) He swipes back his fringe, giving Kokichi a sad, tired smile that makes him feel like he’s watching Saihara sacrifice himself and bleed out. “I went in early this morning,” he says. That’s putting it lightly- Kokichi watched Saihara sneak out at four in the morning, perched on top of the fridge like a gargoyle. (He was just about to go and meet DICE. Saihara’s insomnia sometimes throws a wrench in his plans.) “And, I don’t know, I just get really burned out. I mean, I like my coworkers, I just get tired. My boss isn’t great, either.” He lets out a heavy sigh and sinks into their couch, next to Kokichi, tipping his head back and covering his face with his hands. 

Kokichi, kind leader that he is, reaches out to pat Saihara’s hair. “Don’t worry. They won’t be able to bother you for much longer.”

Saihara looks sideways through the cracks in his long fingers. “I wish you wouldn’t say such cryptic stuff all the time.”

“Nishishishi.” Kokichi presses a finger to his lips as he giggles, brows dropping into one of his more maniacal expressions. Saihara blanches at first, then relaxes into a smile again. 

“How was your day, Ouma-kun?” His hands slide off his face, and he wriggles until he’s sitting upright, leaning into the corner of the couch, his posture welcoming. 

_Oh, nothing big, really. Was just working on my plans for the weekend to rob the fancy restaurant downtown of its big, diamond chandelier. It’s just as difficult as it sounds. You know, I scoped the place this morning, and boy is it a big fucking chandelier._ “Met up with my friends,” he says instead. “Drove around for a bit, you know.”

Saihara tilts his head, his eyes lighting with interest. A dangerous interest, even if Saihara just looks mildly pleased and unaware. “Is that the same friends who drove your stuff over?”

“And a few others, yeah.” Seven others. Kokichi stretches back in his seat, trying not to pick at his nail polish.

Saihara nods, looking distant, musing. “You seemed really close. It looks like you have a lot of fun together.”

“What are you, my dad?” Kokichi laughs, and it doesn’t betray his discomfort, because he’s an excellent liar and he’s not worried. “No, I despise them. I only hang out with them because I can’t drive.”

Saihara blinks. “Why don’t you take public transport?”

“That was a lie, dumbass. I love my friends. I want to give each and every one a tender kiss.” That earns him a laugh, Saihara turning his head slightly to muffle the sound, always polite. “Besides, I hate public transport.”

“Oh, me too. I always reserve seats ahead of time to avoid the people. And I’ve got noise-cancelling headphones to tune out the sound. They were one of the best purchases I’ve ever made, actually.”

Kokichi wrinkles his nose. “What, so you can get more work done while you go to work?” Saihara’s sheepish expression tells him he got it right on the money. “Saihara-chan,” Kokichi sings, leaning over and planting a hand on the detective’s knee. “You work too hard.”

Saihara jumps, looking down at the hand and then back up to Kokichi, his joints locking up. He doesn’t blush so much now that they know each other better, but he never fails to get extremely awkward when Kokichi messes with him. It’s funny, really. Normally he has no patience for people who can’t handle his jokes, but the fact that Saihara is so shy and yet so bold all at once- it’s like he has a secret identity, too. Mister Detective and the Thief of Cards. What a pair they make. “W-well, someone in this house has to,” he says, his voice shaking a bit.”

“My dear Saihara-chan, did you just make a joke?” Kokichi lifts his hand, presses it to his heart instead. “I’m shocked, I really am. Perhaps I’ll have to reconsider my plans of killing you.”

“That’s a lie.”

“You’re right. I’m still going to go through with them.”

They stare at each other for a moment, Kokichi grinning and Saihara unblinking. Then Kokichi jumps up and says, sweetly, “you look so tired, mister detective. Let me handle dinner for today.”

“Can you even cook?” Saihara asks, rubbing his own cheek like he can rub away the pink color there. “Or is this just an excuse to poison me?”

“Guess that’s just a risk you’ll have to take,” Kokichi chirps. Saihara smiles over at him, far too nice, far too patient with a stranger in his home. If Kokichi botched the meal, he’d probably still thank him and eat every bit of it. 

Kokichi doesn’t botch the meal, but that’s only because he has to eat it, too.

\--

On Saturday night, Kokichi is standing on the roof of the restaurant while hundreds of diners eat below him. It’s three stories tall, each story focusing on different kinds of food, and each lavishly decorated. One meal here would cost him three week’s rent, because all the ingredients are shipped daily, fresh and exotic and wasteful. 

Across from him, Ace finishes up marking out the placing of their series of pulleys, then pulls out a drill and begins fixing each one to the building. There’s no need to worry about the noise when the sound from the restaurant itself is so boisterous that it leaks onto the street. Tomorrow, an hour after the restaurant closes, while Kokichi creeps downstairs, picks his way through every window and door until he reaches the maintenance attic, the others will be threading ropes through these pulleys, Ace hanging from the side of the building and waiting for Kokichi to open a window to thread the last rope through to the waiting chandelier. And then….   
And then it’s going to be so goddamn cool. 

“I can’t believe it took us this long to steal a chandelier,” Kokichi remarks. “This is going to be awesome.”

“And dangerous,” Ace replies, but not in a bossy way. They pause to adjust their gloves, then resume drilling. Ace is quiet, fair, with sharp green eyes. They like to watch. Kokichi likes to be watched. They’ve had an easy friendship over the years, him and Ace, even before they had decided to start DICE with the others, even before they were calling each other code names because their real ones didn’t fit. They’re a steady presence in his life, and Kokichi usually hates steady presences. He guesses it’s because Ace only watches things that are fun. No one in DICE is boring.

Kokichi takes the opportunity to mark the angles of the large, glass window that overlooks the beautiful garden patio below, for the outdoorsy guests. There’s even a fountain, for those who don’t mind mosquitoes near their food. They work in silence for a while, just the sound of the drill and then Ace affixing bolts, Kokichi’s spray paint making maps over the roof of the building, pointing down the side of it. 

“Does that detective know where we’re hitting?” Ace asks, flipping up their protective goggles as they look over at Kokichi, still twisting a bolt as they speak.

Kokichi pretends to put thought into it, then grins. “Nah. He knows we’re acting tomorrow, though, so I imagine that he’ll show up as soon as he hears any mention of unrest.”

Ace nods, thumbing grease off their jaw, nudging their septum ring. “Shall we try to figure a distraction out somewhere else?”

He shakes his head, walking over and grabbing a wrench from their pocket, moving to the other side of the support they’re working on and picking up a bolt. “No, I don’t want to add any last-minute changes. And I’ll need you guys ready if I get injured. I’m not too worried about it- I figure there are only three times in the plan he would actually have a chance of getting me, and I can always outrun him.”

“Not if you’re covered in glass shards,” Ace points out, dryly. “And he is faster than you.”

“Right, but I’ve got my routes planned out ahead of time. And I’ve got you guys. And I’m great at hiding.”

Ace hums in acknowledgment, bending down to pick up another bolt and moving on. “Right.”

The drill starts up again, and they don’t speak while it whirrs away, making new holes for the next set of bolts. When it dies down again and they start screwing in the next set, Kokichi speaks up. “Besides, it’s part of the fun of it. Getting chased, I mean.” There’s a reason he’s the only one to actually do the thieving, to make a name for himself. Sure, it’s partially because he’s the only one who really wants that spotlight, who lives off the articles written about him and the flashlights turned his way. But it’s also because Kokichi likes to cut it just close enough. He’ll never get caught, of course- he’ll always keep a step ahead, make sure everything is mapped out just right. But ever since Saihara entered the picture, he can’t help himself from leaving a little slot in his plans for the detective to catch a glimpse of him.   
(At least that way he has control over it, you know? He knows when Saihara’s going to catch up, accounts for it, never gets caught by surprise. Not anymore, at least.)

Ace snorts, raising a pierced eyebrow as they stare at him over the beam. “Oh, we know. I swear half the fun of it for you is thinking that you might get caught.”

“Well, only if it’s Saihara,” Kokichi purrs. It’s a long-running joke for them, about the handsome detective, the only person to get close to figuring them out. It’s just a joke, though.

Ace smiles to themself as they fix in another bolt, their movements fast but steady. “Sure, boss. Just don’t get yourself caught by flirting with him. You’ll never live it down with the others.”

Kokichi blows out the air in his cheeks, making a ppfpfpffff sound. “As if. He’d be too stuttery to get near me.” (There’s a part of him that maybe considers, just a little, if it would actually work. How far does Saihara’s professionalism run? What would he do if Kokichi teased him like he does in their flat? Would he stammer the same way?)

Kokichi lies to himself all the time, but he’s honest when it calls for it. He’s excited to see Saihara, sure, on their playground. At work. He’s excited to see if the detective can still keep his mask up now that Kokichi knows more. Maybe a part of him, deep down and shameful, wants to be recognized, found, looked at. Wants Saihara’s eyes to cut right through him. 

But Kokichi wants a lot of things. He knows how to pick and choose.

\--

It’s Sunday night, and Kokichi has slipped out his bedroom window, his covers stuffed and his door locked. It brings him back to when he was a kid, running away from every home they put him in, a slowly growing group of loyal friends running after him. 

He meets them at Diamonds’ apartment again, and they all share cheap soft drinks and laugh as they strap each other into their uniforms, doing up buttons, tightening ties, checking the elastic of their masks and the battery on their phones. King and Queen are pregaming like fucking champions (as per usual), all of them laughing and arguing over the playlist for when they’re going to drive around the city for an hour to make sure their route is too complex to trace. 

Hot excitement thrums in Kokichi’s chest, beating away like a hundred tiny wings, like every gulp of soda doesn’t settle in his stomach but keeps bubbling, static electricity forming and shooting through his wet veins, explosive and wild and unlike any other feeling. The night flies by, his surroundings faded out until they’re in the darkened restaurant, shut in the early morning hours. It won’t open again until midday, but they won’t take that long, anyway. 

Breaking in is easy- people are so prone to overestimating the locks on windows, even if they’ve slapped an electronic system on every door. Too trusting on alarms that are so easy to snatch the batteries from. Especially when they only need three windows opened. Kokichi scurries through the empty restaurant like an animal, hopping over tables and chairs, posing for the security cameras that are just recording feed to look back on. People think status will protect them. That nobody would be stupid enough to try and hit a place like this. 

Kokichi vogues his way into the attic and thinks about how clever he is. 

By the time he gets there, his friends have already got a sturdy rope hanging parallel on each side of the building. Kokichi gives them a tug, flicks the windows open and pulls them through. He then makes his way over to the huge hook and the hole covered by a neat chandelier base, and stomps his foot through it. The sound is loud in the empty restaurant, but who’s going to hear? He’s on the third floor, and it’s empty. Kokichi whistles as he threads the ropes down, following them through. He hangs upside down by his knees and wishes he was taller, because it’s a bit of a stretch to tie each one to the top of the chandelier. But he manages, the blood filling his head, human heart far too aware of how easy it would be to fall and snap his neck. It doesn’t take long, working in quick, tight knots. Knot tying is an excellent skill to have. (Thank you, miss Uchida, who thought that all young Kokichi’s problems could be solved by some nice manly arts and crafts. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but that didn’t stop her from sending him packing a month later.) Kokichi heaves himself back up, flexible if not strong, using the chandelier’s metal stand for support.   
Once he’s back up on solid ground, he pulls out the crowbar he stashed away last time they cased the joint and begins easing the heavy metal hook open from the attic’s base, watching as the chandelier sways below. Careful to avoid the hefty wires that curl around it, he eases up one end, then the other, until the loop the chandelier was hanging from is open as a bowstring, and stares at it for a while. Then, heart in his chest, he gives the ropes two tugs and slides the chained end of the chandelier off from the open hook.

The chandelier falls, its lights and dangly diamonds chiming in protest, but the two ropes hold firm, and it doesn’t crash. Kokichi gives a sigh of relief, and then paces over to the hole, staring down and watching the light sway and shudder. He grabs each rope in each hand, takes a breath, and then slides down. 

King of the world, Kokichi sits on the chandelier and watches it sway but not snap, glances upward and follows the wires that twist around the chain, checking to make sure they haven’t torn. Another breath. Kokichi stares at the wide, oval window that looks down on the garden on the left side of the restaurant, the seats and bar below it. He takes a moment to admire the view, because that is one of the things this place is famous for, and it really is beautiful. He takes a moment to stare at it, hanging from the chandelier, watching the ridiculously big fountain trickle water from a stone rabbit’s back. Time for phase two.  
Kokichi tears his eyes away from the view and looks to the right, through the thinner windows there. Ace, hanging from the side of the building, gives him a thumbs up and raises an eyebrow. Kokichi grins and mimics the gesture.   
He hears Ace yell something even through the glass, no need for subtlety now, and as he reaches in his pocket for his signature calling card, he can hear the sparks running down those wires, the power switching on, the bulbs in the chandelier coming to life beneath him.

And as Ouma Kokichi, the thief of cards, drops his joker like he’s tipping a stripper, as he looks out that oval window, as the pedestrians and workers and commuters all turn to look at the restaurant that just lit up, one rope is cut at the same time the other is released, and with that jolt of movement, Ouma Kokichi swings.

Violently crescendoing forward, Kokichi and the chandelier crash, picture-perfect, through the center of that giant oval window. He braces himself, hands tight around the staff of the chandelier, shoulders forward, chin down, mask firmly affixed, and he flattens his body back so the chandelier takes the brunt of the blow.  
It hurts, obviously. He’d known it would, glass cutting through his uniform even with their sturdy enhancements, clawing over his scalp, slicing his knees. But he doesn’t have too much time to consider the pain before gravity is pulling the chandelier back, and he needs the momentum _now_ , so Kokichi bites his lip and tenses his knees and jumps, and prays he got the measurements right.  
Three stories is pretty high. It’s high enough to start thinking _I may have been overzealous with this one,_ right before you splash into that ridiculous, too-deep fountain. It’s five feet deep, actually, pretty much Kokichi’s exact height, and curled up in a ball he plummets right into it. Even with the water slowing his descent he still feels the bottom of it bump his back, feels the initial slap against the water cutting every wound again. 

Kokichi pushes up to the surface and gasps for air, and when he blinks tinted-pink water out of his eyes he watches as the chandelier swings forward again, not quite as far this time, and he watches as the rope is cut.

The chandelier falls three stories onto a pile of mattresses they rescued from the dump a week ago. It’s clearly not unharmed- none of the light bulbs seem to have survived, which is a shame, and it’s probably missing a few diamonds. Kokichi bets the gold is dented, too, but the whole frame is still holding up, and he can see the jewels still fixed on it sparkling in the city lights, surrounded by broken glass.  
They’re really on a time limit now, with that display, so Kokichi heaves himself out of the pool and sprints over. His body really does not approve of that, and he’s, unfortunately, limping a little, but he’ll have a few moments to catch his breath. Kokichi kneels down and starts stuffing his pockets with anything shiny, whether it be more broken glass or actual gems, waiting for his friends, because the rest of this is up to them.  
What’s he supposed to do, haul out a whole chandelier by himself?

He doesn’t have to wait long, before Clubs and Ace practically vault over the cute stone wall at the back of the garden, followed by King and Queen. “Go, go,” Ace tells him, cracking their joints before picking up one side of the chandelier, nodding to the others. “Head left, down the waterfront, then turn into the first alley you see. Jack’ll meet you there.”

“You look like shit, boss!” Clubs calls out, beaming as she lifts up her end.

Kokichi gives them all a salute and then starts running, bolting back through the restaurant and setting off every alarm in the building as he slams through each door until he’s at the front, and he’s out, sprinting through the crowd of people. As he runs, he hears Queen’s voice, amplified through the megaphone, and he looks over his shoulder to see her standing on the top of the fountain’s statue, looking over the gate and announcing “the Thief of Cards sends his regards! Do not approach this building or we will have you shot on sight.” Kokichi catches a glance of King hanging off the tail of the statue and aiming a prop gun over the wall.

Dumbasses, he thinks fondly. He can hear people gasp as he passes them, probably from the iconic uniform but maybe also because of all the blood covering him. It looks worse than it is, because of all the white- he feels fine, really. Just a little sad that this uniform is DONE. No fixing this one, fellas.   
He recites the directions in his head as he speeds left until he reaches the corner that leads to the waterfront, juking a salaryman as he changes his route. First alley, first alley. Kokichi pushes himself, ignores two streets and a driveway, and then he catches the slip of a dark, foreboding walkway and runs down. He recognizes it, actually- it’ll lead back into the city, but cut through to a residential district. Clever. He thinks back to the others and hopes they’re doing okay- an irrational worry, he knows, but still. They’re brilliant. They’re capable. They’re human.   
Kokichi spots someone at the end of the alley and speeds up, his lungs killing him, but the adrenaline is pushing him forward, making everything blurry except for his goal, making him want nothing more than to catch Jack and whoop and holler as they run to meet the others and Jack clearly feels the same, because they’re running toward him too, and-

That’s not Jack.

Kokichi skids to a stop at the same time detective Saihara does, his feet light on the cobble below.  
“I expected you earlier,” Kokichi says, and he almost forgets to put on his thief voice.

Saihara looks just how he left him- down to the black cotton shirt and the dark slacks. He’s thrown on his usual coat, but he looks just as weary. Kokichi wonders if he slept at all. “I was… distracted, this evening,” he admits. 

Detective Saihara doesn’t blush. Doesn’t stammer. He just stares right at Kokichi’s clown mask, confident and capable. 

“Evening? It’s practically morning, beloved detective. Did you not rest at all?” Kokichi takes the moment to shift his weight. It’s not a show of weakness, he’s just admiring his own hands, twirling his hair. Every movement is electrified, the pain sent to the back of his mind. _Will he recognize me?_

The ghost of a smile echoes on Saihara’s face. It’s like something he’d offer over the kitchen counter at breakfast, or when he thinks Kokichi is being childish. Here, it’s wry, like there’s a layer of irony to it. It makes Kokichi worry. “I might have if you hadn’t kept me waiting all weekend.”

“Dreadfully sorry.” Kokichi clasps his hands to his chest. “But- shouldn’t you be recovering that lovely chandelier, detective?”

Saihara shifts slightly. “I thought you were a higher priority.” His eyes dip down to the blood on Kokichi’s ankles, dripping from his back. “Especially with those wounds."

“Have you-” pause to gasp- “abandoned your team? All alone with the dangerous group DICE? Detective…” Kokichi tuts, pressing a hand to his mask. “You’ll get them killed like that.”

“DICE is a nonviolent group. I don’t know why you’d claim you are, it just puts you in more danger.” Saihara sighs, and makes a few steps forward. Kokichi steps back. “Like I don’t know why you’d do such a dangerous stunt. Was intentional for you to go through the window, too, or was that unplanned?”

“Happy accident?” Kokichi asks, innocently. From Saihara’s snort, he doesn’t buy it. “How’d you find me, detective?”

Saihara cocks his head to the side, another gesture that is familiar in a terribly domestic way. “When I arrived at the scene, I immediately set my eyes on your group. I knew you would need assistance, so I followed the two that split away from the others, assuming they’d go after you. When they got separated, I had to guess at where you were planning to meet- but it wasn’t too hard.”

Kokichi marvels at how different Saihara is when he’s working. At home, he can’t explain anything to Kokichi without getting embarrassed or convincing himself that he had it wrong. Maybe he gets shy around people, but when he looks at Kokichi’s mask, he doesn’t see a person. He just sees a thief.  
The thought is sobering in an cold-water way. Kokichi listens around them, for the changes in the cool night air, the sounds of the city. Anything that isn’t Saihara. He steps forward. Saihara mimics him. They’re not too far apart now, just a few feet. 

“You’re too clever for your own good,” Kokichi remarks. He can hear footsteps down a nearby street. Saihara offers a bowed head, mockingly. “And someone as clever as that… knows you aren’t going to catch me tonight, right?”

“I certainly hope I do,” Saihara says, evenly. “Because I think I’m the only person who’s going to take you to a hospital. Do you plan on fixing those yourself?”

“I’ll get one of my followers to do it,” Kokichi sneers. 

“You know I mean you no ill will,” Saihara begins, but he doesn’t get any further because those footsteps that Kokichi had been listening out for get closer, and louder, and as Saihara glances sideways down one of the little streets leading to the alley, Kokichi draws up a foot and kicks him square in the chest. 

Saihara stumbles back, a surprised sound ripping from his throat, but he has no time to respond before Jack is scooping Kokichi up, slinging the leader over his shoulders and already turning to run off again, their breath heavy and tired and their forehead dripping with sweat. 

Kokichi twists around their shoulders and wiggles his fingers at the detective pulling himself to his feet. “See you, detective-chan~!” He calls, then sinks back down and lets Jack run.

“Boss,” Jack wheezes. “I’m so-”

“Just run,” Kokichi says, patting their hair gently. “You did great. You all did so great. It went better than I could’ve hoped.”

“I’m sorry,” they say again. “We- we won’t let it get that close again, I swear.”

\--

Kokichi looks up, innocently, from his book. “Hard night, Saihara?”

Saihara doesn’t even bother to hang up his coat, just sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “I almost had him, too.”

“You almost- wait, do you mean that thief?” Kokichi sets the book (chess strategies, one he’s read almost religiously all his life, the pages folded and doodles in the margins) next to him and lets his eyes light up with sparks that aren’t a lie, not at all. He wants to know every one of Saihara’s thoughts about the case. “Really? Was that what you were doing tonight?”

Saihara’s brow creases for a moment- then he looks to the lamp, the only light in the room, Kokichi in his big, comfy t-shirt and a pair of multi-colored boxers, fluffy socks up to his knees (a cute way of hiding the bandages around his lower legs), and he looks extremely guilty. “Did I wake you?”

“You left in kinda a hurry, de- dipshit.” Kokichi gives him a serene smile, tucking up his feet next to him and snuggling cozier into the couch. He pulls his blanket around his shoulders and mentally maps the body angles that will reveal any wounds. “It’s okay, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Saihara says, and it sounds too honest, makes Kokichi think about kicking off from his chest, laughing in his face. “I know you have trouble sleeping.” Kokichi’s surprise must register, because he gives another apologetic smile. “You wake up at different times during the day and don’t have a regular schedule for when you sleep, either. And I’ve heard you walking to the kitchen before. An insomniac knows his kind, I guess.”

“I guess,” Kokichi echoes, because he thought he was good at hiding that. He’s practically silent at night. Just another reminder that every moment he spends around Saihara is risky, masked or not.

Saihara sighs and moves to sit next to him, like he had just a few days ago. Still in his coat, tie tight around his neck. Before he quite knows what he’s doing, Kokichi’s leaning over and loosening it for him, one hand slipping over the dark blue satin. 

While he does this, something possesses him to look up, and he meets Saihara’s eyes, staring down at him too deep and mellow, and he releases the tie without clearing his throat, slipping back into his casual grin. It fits easy on his face, just another mask to swap between. That’s not to say it isn’t real. All lies are a little bit real, right? Because they’re still based in a thought, that you thought, and you have to believe them yourself, just a little bit.

Something about this night air has him subdued, the adrenaline sunk from his bones, Saihara’s gaze heavy on his shoulders. He doesn’t think he could run if he wanted to.

“I love being awake at night,” he says, not really sure why or where he’s going. “I love the lights of the city, how still it feels. How isolating, to be the only one awake, like the night’s wrapped round your throat. People are always so tense to keep themselves hidden at night, but it’s not as easy to wake someone as you’d think. As long as you keep your distance, you could speak at a regular volume and you wouldn’t wake them. There’s a nice power to it.”

And it’s true, it really is, but Saihara says “that’s a lie.”

“What part?” Kokichi asks, tilting his head. Saihara’s eyes are melting like gold, like honey. Like the moon, dripping from the sky, set up against his dark hair. 

“You don’t like being awake at night,” Saihara says, and his voice is weary and tired and his eyes are sleepy, covered in moon dust and eyeliner, but he’s looking at Kokichi like he’s peaceful, like he’s woken up to breakfast even if he is tired. “You get lonely.”

Kokichi’s throat dries up. “I’m never lonely,” he says. “And that’s not a lie, really.” And it’s not. It isn’t.

But Saihara smiles again, slow and languid over his face, and the lamplight is so yellow, a moth flickering inside the paper cover. “An insomniac knows his kind,” he repeats. “If you like being awake at night, why are you so busy in the day?”

 _I’m busy at night, too,_ Kokichi wants to say but can’t. No need to go giving hints like that. Much better for Shuichi to think of him as a sappy, lost little dreamer, if that’s what he wants. A good liar knows when to change tacts. “Always playing the detective, I guess.”

Saihara laughs softly, finally turning his heavy eyes away, and Kokichi doesn’t know whether he relaxes or tenses up now that they’re not weighing on him. “Can’t turn it off, I guess,” he murmurs, staring at the floor. “I’m not very observational, really. I’m just good at making connections. I always feel like I never realize things until it’s too late- like I need all the clues before I can put something together, and I don’t notice them as fast as other people.”

“Then why would they have asked you to go hunt this thief?” Kokichi asks, and he’s frustrated. Offended that Saihara, who has come so close to catching him, would insult himself like this. It’s an insult to Kokichi, too, implying he could almost be caught by a useless detective, even if he allowed it. “I hate liars, you know.”

Saihara blinks, then, and he looks up, and his gaze isn’t as heavy when it sets on Kokichi. Like it’s taking a while to decide how to settle there, analytical or defensive. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he says, instead of whatever lie he was trying for, and Kokichi laughs, because if only he knew.

“Of course not,” he agrees, lies. “Imagine if there was more than one of me. I don’t think the world could handle it.”

Saihara chuckles again, folding his hands together, thinker pose. “Not in the same apartment, certainly. Does it bother you, when I call out your lies?”

Kokichi’s face scrunches indignantly. “Only when you’re wrong about it.”

And Saihara laughs again, and leans back from his folded hands. “Ouma-kun, you’re… I won’t say you’re easy to get along with. But I enjoy putting the effort in.” He releases those linked fingers and stands up, brushing back his hair. In the yellow light of this- his- their living room, his eyes look soft. “Thank you for distracting me,” he says, and he bows his head. “I’ll try to make you proud at work tomorrow.”

“I’m not your _dad_ ,” Kokichi scoffs, and he tries to ignore the mix of feelings pulling at his stomach.

\--

“Welcome to Casa del Ouma!” Kokichi spreads his arms out, ignoring the twinge in his shoulders, and watches his friends look around. “Please make yourselves at home, but don’t go into Saihara’s room or study because then he’ll have to kill you.”

Almost a week from Kokichi’s Chandelier Stunt, and his smaller cuts have mostly healed. The bruising is wicked, though, and he thinks he fucked up his ankle somehow. He’s trying to take it easy, not give away any pain to Saihara, and so far it’s been good. Mage, who has some minor medical training, reckons he’ll be good in another few weeks. The bigger slashes, on his lower leg and back, have had stitches put in that can come out in a few days- it’s all looking pretty good. For this weekend’s strike, though, they’re going to keep it casual. Just some graffiti, some civil unrest, back to basics, no big strikes. There’s no need, anyway. The papers will be talking about this one for a while.

“Wow,” Miu says, poking at a collection of Saihara’s framed photos on a bookshelf. “I cannot believe he hasn’t kicked you out yet.”

Kokichi sniffs, sticking his nose in the air. “I’ll have you know that Saihara thinks I am funny and entertaining. He appreciates my stunts and my decor in a way none of you ever have.”

Kiibo points at a sculpture of empty orange juice cartons painted to look like a mecha. It’s three feet high and lives on the dining table.“You’re telling me he likes this.” 

Kokichi shrugs, because he can’t believe it either.

“He’s a genius,” Rantaro says casually, moving over to open the fridge and inspect its contents. “Geniuses are always weird. Kokichi, why are there so many lemons in here.”

“I’m going to make lemon curd on the weekend,” Kokichi replies. “If you look closer, you’ll see some cream in there, too.”

Rantaro raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever made that before?”

“No, but Saihara said I could.”

Miu flops onto the couch in his usual spot, and Kokichi feels an odd spike of possessiveness that he ignores. “Okay, what’s he like? Does he give you all the hot goss from the front lines? Did he tell you all about the chandelier thing?”

Kokichi shrugs a shoulder. He leans back against the living room wall, watching his friends come and go from the adjoining kitchen. “We don’t talk about it much, really. Mostly, I lie to him, and he tells me how much he enjoys my company.”

“Well, that’s definitely untrue.” Kiibo pulls out a bottle of Kokichi’s fanta, with his name marked on it in capitals because Saihara might be an excellent roommate but that is one line he is unwilling to cross. 

“No, I’m serious. He’s like, super lonely.” Kokichi frowns to himself. He’s not sure why he dislikes thinking that Saihara is so desperate for company that he finds anything Kokichi does refreshing. That it’s so hard to imagine Saihara actually liking his conversation. It doesn’t matter. Saihara is pathetic and embarrassing any time he isn’t hunting criminals. “And he doesn’t really talk about himself much? More of a listener, I guess.” Quickly, he switches to a sharp grin. “Which is great for me.”

“He’s probably studying you,” Miu says. “You know, making a criminal profile, because he’s never met someone as weird as you before. He’s going to turn you in for his thesis.”

“He’s done with university, actually. Not that you’d be able to picture that, you debt-heavy, gonna have to be a hooker, desperate for money, going into academics because she can’t handle a real job, slut.”

Miu clutches at her chest and whines, and Kokichi makes a face at her. Kiibo sighs heavily and flicks her on the forehead, which is quickly responded to with a backhanded slap and a loud curse, and then they’re both bickering about something useless and dumb. 

Rantaro comes over to stand by Kokichi before he realizes it, smiling in his offhand, casual way. “What’s got you so cranky?”

“Huh?” Kokichi widens his eyes, giving Rantaro his most innocent expression. “Cranky?”

“You were glaring at Miu like she’d killed your dog.”

“I always glare at Miu. Also, I hate dogs.”

“Not true,” Rantaro says, just as casually, like he doesn’t care. Like swatting aside Kokichi’s lies is boring to him, just another part of the conversation. Does no one around here appreciate his entertainment?

Kokichi stands in silence a little longer, watching Miu grab Kiibo’s hair and immediately reduce him to whimpering apologies. 

“I’m sure Saihara does like your company.”

Kokichi snaps his head over so quickly that he thinks he’s pulled a muscle. (Again.) “I don’t care what Saihara thinks.”

Rantaro just keeps smiling. He thinks he’s so clever. Kokichi smiles back, all teeth. 

\--

Kokichi is extremely bored. He’s still resting up, because DICE, normally so obedient and respectful of their leader, is refusing to do anything until his stitches are out and his bruises are gone, and stupid Mage decided they needed a bit longer. Not to mention that the Chandelier Stunt has apparently given Saihara a lot of paperwork, so much that he’s either at his office or holed up in his study, looking stressed. It’s a weekday, and most of DICE is either working or busy. Miu and Kiibo have class, Rantaro also has work despite being a rich bastard. Kokichi is b-o-r-e-d.   
That’s why he’s at the kitchen counter with his hand on a chopping block, the knife dancing in between his knuckles. He’s always been good with his hands (heh) and as an edgy teen, he got pretty good at the knife game. He hasn’t played it in years, but now that he’s bored and restless and a little bit angry, his hands fit around the blade like they were made for it, and the metal dances around his palm harmlessly.

I have all my fingers.  
The knife goes chop, chop, chop.  
Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop. He builds up a pretty good rhythm, gets really into it. If he gets hurt here it’s his own fault. No friends to feel guilty, to baby him, no Saihara to fuss over how tired he’s been, no one to look at him like he’s running himself ragged, chasing a thrill that’s getting too dangerous, like he’s stupid, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing-

“What are you doing?”

Kokichi looks up to see Saihara standing in the door, cigarette in one hand and empty coffee mug in the other. The knife keeps moving. 

“I don’t do well when I’m left on my own,” he explains. 

“I-I’ll say. God, Kokichi, stop that.” Saihara doesn’t raise his voice. It flutters nervously but doesn’t falter, as he sets the mug down and pockets the cigarette, crossing over to stand by Kokichi.

Kokichi hears his first name and he almost flinches, and the knife-

Goes chop.

“Fuck, Ouma, oh my god.” He can feel Saihara’s arms reach around him, one taking the knife and throwing it aside. It clatters to the ground, and it’s kind of funny to hear it, but then Saihara’s leaning over his shoulder and lifting his hand, and Kokichi is far too aware of the wounds on his back that would give him away if his shirt slipped. “Fuck, thank god, I thought you’d cut it clean off.” Saihara’s breath comes out heavy, shaking on Kokichi’s neck, warm and smokey and bitter.

He shivers. He sits there as Saihara promises to be back, disappears and returns with a first aid kit, sits down across from him. Saihara bandages his hand very carefully, and Kokichi thinks about how cold his fingers are, how he’d noticed that when they first met. He’s been living here for a while now, huh? Just over three weeks. And Saihara hasn’t kicked him out. Miu isn’t the only one who’s surprised.

Saihara, with his cold hands and gentle fingers, sets aside the disinfectant and tucks the end of the bandage into itself. “You’re lucky,” he says softly. “It’ll heal alright. The skin on your fingers is good at putting itself back together, and you didn’t cut too deep.”

Kokichi nods, staring at his hand. He is lucky. If he’d gotten hurt any worse, DICE might have refused to go do anything big for even longer. He likes their smaller stunts, he does, he just craves something bigger. He needs to be looked at.

Saihara is looking at him. Kokichi laughs. He’s good at laughing. It occurs to him that this is the first time he’s heard Saihara curse like that.

“What’s wrong?” Saihara asks. It sounds like his detective voice. He isn’t stammering. Maybe shy Saihara is the one that’s all an act. 

Kokichi shrugs, the laughter still sticking to his face, holding up his smile. “Bored.”

“You- you hurt yourself because you were bored.”

“I hate being bored,” he says, shrugging again. “Also, I didn’t hurt myself on purpose. That was _your_ fault.” Oh no, he shouldn’t say that. “You distracted me.”

Saihara blanches, looks genuinely concerned about the accusation. Then he lowers his head and sighs, and his eyes go all steely. “No, it wasn’t. You were looking for an excuse to slip up.”

“A bold deduction, mister Holmes! But an incorrect one. Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, I haven’t the patience for it.”

Surprisingly, Saihara laughs. “Fair enough,” he says. And then he glances over his shoulder, at the clock hanging on their kitchen wall. “Do you want to watch a movie for a bit? Something dumb. A comedy. Take your mind off things.”

“Don’t you have a fuck tonne of work to do?” Kokichi asks, raising an eyebrow. Saihara’s face flickers, but then he smiles again, and it’s the same wry one from the alley.

“I think making sure my roommate doesn’t cut off his own hand due to boredom is slightly more important.”

“If you get fired, it’s not my fault.”

“If I get fired, my life will be improved significantly.”

That gives Kokichi pause. He looks down at his bandaged hand, then back up to Saihara. “I thought you loved your work.”

“I do. I mean- I do. It’s just…” Saihara’s cheeks color, and he looks sideways. “I’d be chasing the thief anyway, with or without the police. But they’re a great help, and I love my team, I just… working in a group has so many more steps than working on your own. Especially because I’m an honorary member. I have to consult someone about every decision I make, and ultimately, I don’t get a choice in how the investigation is directed.” He takes a breath, and it seems like he’s letting out something he’s bottled up for a long time. “It’s just- it feels unfair. They brought me on to investigate, but they won’t let me do it my way.”  
Kokichi’s quiet for a while, just watching him, and then Saihara blinks. “S-sorry,” he says. “That must sound pretty selfish. Especially considering the circumstances.”

“No!” Kokichi says quickly. He coughs. “No. I liked… hearing about your work. You never talk about yourself.” Quickly, he fixes on a smile. “It’s probably all confidential, huh? Or maybe Saihara-chan is just shyyy.”

“Little bit of column A,” Saihara says, giving a soft laugh. “Little bit of column B.”

Kokichi claps his hands together and jumps up, watching the way Saihara starts. “Okay! Let’s go watch that movie. I’ll make popcorn- on one condition.” He holds up a finger, waits for Saihara to nod. “You keep telling me about yourself! I barely know anything, and I talk about myself so much. It’s only fair.”

“Most of what you tell me are lies,” Saihara points out, but he doesn’t disagree. Instead he stands up and smiles. “I’ll go pick something really dumb for us to talk over.”

So, Kokichi makes popcorn, and Saihara puts on a terrible teen drama, and they talk. Saihara talks about his uncle, about what he’d name his cat, about his awful boss and his best friends. And Kokichi listens. It’s nice.   
And if they hold hands during the movie, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that Kokichi’s finger was still sore.

\--

Finally, next weekend, DICE have decided to stop worrying about Kokichi and start respecting him again. They didn’t hear about Kokichi’s little slip up, and they didn’t need to. He gets the awful sense that they’re still worried, though, giving him odd looks and touching him too gently, and having too-casual conversations about maybe dialling things back, which is ridiculous. They don’t need to dial things back, they need to dial them UP. More drama, more attention- haven’t they seen what the internet is saying? They’re viral with that last stunt. And Kokichi’s always got it under control- he doesn’t need any of them to get in danger. He’ll admit to himself that splitting up last time cut it too close, made them worry too much, could’ve turned dangerous. But he won’t make that mistake again, he’ll make himself a better distraction next time.  
Still, they’re going for something more casual this time. It’s an early birthday present for King and Queen, actually. They’re going to head to the local school of music and theater and let them pick through all their fancy instruments. 

The twins are an absolute _nightmare_ about their birthday, but Kokichi is the same way when his rolls around, so he doesn’t mind. 

“I am going to wear a pretty dress,” Queen informs him, her curls tossed back, a hand pressed to his chest. “I’ll wear the mask, but not the jumpsuit. It’s my birthday.”

“As long as it’s white,” Kokichi agrees, smiling up at her. She smiles back, and her brother joins her, his hand pressed up by Kokichi’s ear, the two of them pinning him to the wall.

“I am _also_ going to wear a pretty dress,” he says.

“Well, same rules for you. Gotta be white, King. Otherwise we won’t match.”

Queen pushes him further into the wall, leans against it herself so she’s really looking down on him, her brother mirroring her. “Can’t we skip uniforms?” She asks sweetly. “Since it’s our birthday?”

“Don’t I have any authority here?” Kokichi asks, raising his voice. They just keep smiling at him. “Okay, fine, no uniforms. Please let me go.”

From the floor of the bedroom, Clubs shouts, “can we stop being powerbottoms for _one minute_ in this damn gang?” She is met with much disapproval, some from Kokichi. Still, he takes the opportunity to weasel out from under the twins, brushing down his shirt and turning to the rest of them. A true leader does not allow himself to get intimidated by his own members, which is why he allows them onto this makeshift stage (couch) as he addresses the others. And why he lets them pin him against the wall, because he let them do that.

“Right,” Kokichi says, miming with a fake microphone. “Simple plan, simple hit. We show up. Break into a classroom, because the main halls and entrances will have alarms. We swing to the concert hall. Next to the concert hall are storage rooms. King and Queen go inside with a guard…” He scans the crowd, watches Hearts stick up his hand, and nods to him. “The rest of us wait outside. If they want to, they may play a song. We’ll bring a bottle of wine and a cake and we can celebrate there. When we’ve had enough, we leave a king and queen card in each empty music case and we dash. Super casual, super fun, no danger.”

Next to him, standing on the couch in four-inch heels, Queen raises her hand. “What about Saihara?”

“What _about_ Saihara?”

“If we don’t do anything flashy, how will he know where we are?”

Kokichi blinks up at his protege. “What part of ‘stress-free’ and ‘super casual’ do you not understand?”

She pouts at him. “Boss, it’s my birthday.”

“It’s our birthday,” her brother echoes, swooning back against the wall. “Where’s the drama- the action- how is Hearts supposed to rescue us from impending danger if there’s no detective to catch us?”

“Don’t doubt me,” Hearts pouts.

Kokichi stares around at his gang. “Do you- do you guys _want_ Saihara to be there?” He’s met with ten nodding faces. “God.” Kokichi pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It’s just more fun!” King says, sweet as apple pie. “You could leave him a riddle on his bedroom pillow on how to find us…”

“Oh yeah, that’ll be great. Totally not suspicious at all. It’s not like I live with him or anything.”

“Boss,” Queen cuts in, taking his hand in hers and looking at him gently. “It’ll be more fun for you that way too, right? A little bit of drama, little bit of a chase… but it’ll still be super casual. We’ll say we’ve got him surrounded, and we can get the car ready before he even arrives.”

Her pleading expression is just too much. Kokichi looks away, only to find himself staring at her brother, an identical expression of hope and misery.

“Okay, fine,” he sighs. “I’ll find some way to get him there.”

\--

Because he has no control over his subordinates, Kokichi ends up designing a little riddle and writing it over a card before giving a girl on the street twenty bucks to drop it off at the station. From the look on her face, she was absolutely thrilled to be assisting with crime and assured him she’d get it there safely. The card was addressed to Saihara, and Saihara only, and should reach him as he was leaving. It was a risky move, but Kokichi had it from the man’s own mouth that he’d prefer to work alone, right?  
Nonetheless, he had the sick sense that this night was not going to be as uncomplicated as he hoped.

It was still a joy, though. Getting into the school was easy, and King and Queen were like kids in a candy store, playing every single brass instrument because they could force the others to listen. The acoustics in the hall were great, and the place was pretty, with a stained glass window on the far end and rich, velvety curtains all around the stage. There was a piano set up there, which they balanced their food on, and it only took the twins a short while to stop messing around with the brass and start playing with their chosen instruments, and soon the rich sounds of an accordion and violin were flooding the hall, and Mage and Jack were dancing, and Hearts and Spades followed, and Ace and Diamonds and Clubs all sat on the floor and watched them, and Kokichi leaned against the piano and sipped wine that he hated but that Saihara would have liked, and he felt… good. Full. Just as good as he had when he’d crashed through that window, though he supposes it’s a celebration.

“We should do this more often,” Diamonds calls over to him, and he can’t disagree.

At some point, Queen and King both sidle up to him, still playing, and he laughs as they flank him with identical smiles. “Why aren’t you dancing, boss?” King asks, his voice full of timbre, gold in the room.

“And miss out on that view?” He gestures over to where Mage and Jack are simultaneously trying to waltz and trying not to look each other in the eye. They’re cute, Jack in a leather jacket and skirt spinning around a tiny, flustered Mage, his red cloak flapping out behind him. It makes his heart squash or something, like a mouldy apple caving in. Gross metaphor. 

“How romantic,” Queen sighs, and as if they decided on it beforehand, she and her brother switch the melody in unison, swinging her bow to swing the melody into something high and sweet and grossly loving as King draws in the accordion. Weird twin powers. 

“Don’t you want to dance like that with someone, someday?” King asks.

“Oh, but of course!” She replies, smiling at them both with a red-apple mouth. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’m good, actually,” Kokichi pipes up. Their gazes turn downwards. Man, it really sucks being around tall people. 

King and Queen laugh, just as melodic as their actual music, and then they close their eyes and start swaying, and the song gets melancholy and lovely, and the dancers slow down and send sheepish grins over to Kokichi. He grins back, and moves back again so he can watch his friends. 

Clubs’ usually loud voice has pitched down, so soft that he can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s clearly happy, chattering to the others. Diamonds is leaning back against a curtain, gesturing with a wine glass whenever she cuts in, Ace across from her, quiet and with their legs folded. The dancers still dance, Hearts and Spades trying to tango, then to swing, then to jive, hopping through the decades and laughing as the pining duo sway beside them. The twins keep playing, playing, moving with it, in complete harmony with each other, and then-

They lift their bows at exactly the same time. “I think it’s time, don’t you?” Queen asks.

Kokichi pulls out his phone, and there it is- midnight, right on the dot. Spooky. He stretches his arms back, then lets them fall, stepping forward and drawing the others’ attention. “Well, gentlemen, gentleladies, Ace, Jack.” He bows, then straightens up again. “I believe our guest should be arriving soon, hm?”

Diamonds stands up, shrugging her jacket higher. “I’ll get the car ready. I’ll be in the parking lot, west end, and I’ll be ready to leave as soon as you’re all ready.”

“Stay low,” Kokichi tells her, and she just smirks.

All around him, the others slip on masks, murmur to each other, move backstage. Kokichi downs the last of his wine and passes the glass to Ace, leaning up against the piano. The food gets packed up, sent off with Jack to deliver to Diamonds. King and Queen disappear in the darkness of the wings. Spades scampers up to the lighting booth, and once everyone is off except for Kokichi, the lights dim.

He waits, in the dark, his friends still whispering, his mask tight around his eyes, until he hears the door creak open.

Footsteps, just one pair, moving forward, slowly, slowly. They stop, still at the back of the room.

Something clicks, and Kokichi is blinded- he can’t see anything past the stage, just his body in the spotlight and the curtains to either side of him. “Detective Saihara.”

He thinks he hears a smile. “The Thief of Cards.”

The footsteps start up again, and Kokichi waits, waits until they reach the stage, and step on, one at a time.

As soon as Saihara steps up, the spotlight dims and the stage lights flick on, lighting the area so that they can see each other, just dimly, a row of red staining Kokichi’s white suit, because even if the others came in party clothes, he was waiting for this meeting. They stare at each other, in the low light. The detective and the phantom thief.

“Rather foolish of you to come alone,” Kokichi says.

Saihara tilts his head. “Who says I came alone?”

“The fact that my people haven’t alerted me of anyone else? The fact that you’re still alive? You know, we would have killed you if you hadn’t obeyed our instructions.”

“You wrote so, yes.” Saihara’s voice sounds dry, but his eyes are twinkling. “Are we finally getting to talk, now?”

“Talk?” Kokichi is a liar, but he would be a disgraceful one if he said he doesn’t get it. This- this is exciting, toe to toe with the detective, the sense of danger despite being safer than Saihara himself. It’s probably great fun for his cronies to watch, too. He gets why they requested it. He feels it, too. “I was planning on kidnapping you, actually.”

Saihara, still standing at the front of the stage, smiles. “You’ve had plenty of chance to do it before.”

“I need the right atmosphere. If you’re not going to enjoy a crime, why commit it?”

“You’re not going to be able to convince me you’re dangerous.”

Now, that makes him laugh. Kokichi in fuzzy socks is better at convincing Saihara he’s dangerous than the phantom thief is. Maybe his lies are just better when they’re paired with his facial expressions. Maybe it’s because Saihara hasn’t been studying Oma Kokichi for a year. Maybe Saihara is just a really bad judge of people. “I have ten people gathered in this hall right now, all armed,” Kokichi says. “One wrong move, and they’ll turn on you.”

Saihara doesn’t say anything for a long time, just watches him with those steely eyes. Like they’re looking right through him. “Why did you ask me here, tonight?”

“Why?” Because my followers are spoiled rotten. “What’s the fun in stealing if no one’s going to notice? I need the thrill of the chase, mister detective. You’re a great entertainment to me.”

That actually seems to strike a nerve, Saihara twisting his mouth up. “I’m not just a game,” he says. “You take a lot of risks. If I were any other officer, you would be in serious danger now.”

Kokichi’s smile drops behind his mask. “I guess I’m lucky you’re not an officer at all.”

“Thief,” Saihara begins. “Fool- that’s what they call you?”

“Only my friends can call me that,” he sings. The lights hang heavy over their heads, like a row of moons, an audience waiting for a show.

“I’d like to talk with you, properly, one day.”

The taste of wine is still red in his mouth. Kokichi extends a hand, tucking his other behind his back. “Well, mister detective,” he remarks, a smirk under the mask. “Why don’t you dance with me?” Queen, well-trained and well-tuned into Kokichi’s overdramatic mind, lets a long violin string echo through the dark hall. His grin widens. “They say a waltz is a kind of conversation, you know.”

He doesn’t know how he expects Saihara to react. Awkward stuttering, maybe. More likely anger. Dismissiveness. To break into a run and try to escape, then and there. What he doesn’t expect is for him to cross the floor, his smart boots clicking over the marble, each one echoing. Detective Saihara stops in front of Kokichi and bows. He reaches for his still-hovering hand. He takes it. He places his other on Kokichi’s waist. 

The hand tucked behind Kokichi’s back moves, almost without permission. Some compulsion drives him to place it on Saihara’s arm, just above his elbow.   
He’s so much shorter than Saihara, who is a man of average height and slender build, who hunches up in their apartment and slouches over his work and has heavy, honey-colored eyes. Saihara who is just an ordinary man. He wasn’t meant to get this close. In one movement, he could lift Kokichi’s mask. Reveal him to the world. Know exactly where he sleeps and where he eats and the people he associates with. 

Saihara doesn’t do any of that. He just smiles, like he’s called Kokichi’s bluff. 

But Kokichi has very, very good friends, who will not allow him to be looked down upon by a detective. One long note stretches through the air again, a rich accordion, somber and thick as the wine he was drinking.   
Behind the mask, Kokichi raises an eyebrow challengingly. Outloud, he says, “we could kill you at any moment, you know.”

Saihara steps sideways, and brings Kokichi with him. 

The accordion plays a long string of notes, rising and falling in their melody, before tipping into a waltz, something that sends them moving across the floor, sideways and back and sideways again. It’s very simple, barely a dance, just a movement that drags them over the floor. A violin cuts in again, overlaying a different melody, and the tune is so full and vibrant that it’s almost mocking. He could imagine it played in one of those film noir foreign flicks that Saihara likes so much- but it’s being played here, in this empty concert hall, another instrument joining that Kokichi doesn’t recognize. 

Saihara dips him suddenly, something like a grin on his face. As soon as he’s lifted again, Kokichi jerks them right, but Saihara doesn’t trip, just changes the rhythm of their movement. Saihara’s eyes are fixed on the mask, and Kokichi wonders what he finds so interesting about it, the clown winking up at him. It’s theatrical. It’s ridiculous. What are they doing here, waltzing like they’ve just met and want to know more?

They don’t stop dancing. Kokichi moves in a quick turn, and he pulls Saihara with him. Saihara counters by lifting his hand to twirl him. Kokichi, bold despite his vertical disadvantage, decides it’s his turn to dip Saihara, who doesn’t laugh but grins even wider, standing up and trying to lead again, guiding them along the floor.   
Kokichi doesn’t know much about dancing- certainly not dancing like this, which he only watches in really sappy movies when he’s craving drama. But he knows that a waltz isn’t meant to be like this, fighting for control between them, both guided by the music like they can’t quite stop, turning each other like they’re spinning tops, using each rush of sound to try and get the better of the other. A waltz isn’t meant to be a game, it’s meant to be slow and rich and romantic and move in a rhythm of threes, and yet they don’t trip, don’t fall from the melody, just keep chasing it, one after the other.   
Saihara turns him again, and Kokichi can only stare, at the way his eyes glint in the light. The music is too loud, pulling him with it, and he doesn’t know who’s leading the dance anymore. Maybe it’s both of them. Maybe it’s King and Queen, playing from the shadows. 

“Just because I want to catch you doesn’t mean I want to hurt you,” Saihara murmurs, taking his palm and lifting it, and Kokichi twirls because what else can he do but turn under those eyes?

“You’re pretty bad at catching me,” he replies, just as quietly. “Who knows if you’ll kill me while you’re at it?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” Saihara says. 

Kokichi laughs as the music swells- is someone playing a horn? “You’re awfully overconfident for someone in such a vulnerable position. I wonder how much the black market would pay for your body?”

“I know you won’t hurt me,” Saihara says, and it’s not true, because Kokichi hurts everyone he can get his claws in- ask DICE, still worried that he’ll throw himself off a building in pursuit of glory, who he risks leaving behind every time he pulls a stunt in a heist. 

The accordion dies back, and something plays a sweet little melody that’s just perfect for Saihara to lean down and whisper “I trust you, Thief of Cards.”

Kokichi doesn’t reply, and the tune picks up again, volume rising as those dark swings join again, mystery and companionship folded up until the lines blur, Saihara and him moving along the stage, and it’s Kokichi’s stage, his friends all around them, Saihara alone and stupid and trusting, but why does he feel so vulnerable? Why doesn’t he know what to do except dance? 

His ego, bitter and prideful, stretches up, and he says, after a long pause of nothing but music and dance, “You really shouldn’t.” 

Saihara’s eyes, which have drifted down to their linked hands, flick back up, and they lapse into silence again, because all he does is stare at Kokichi’s mask, like he’s staring past it, like he’s looking right into his pink, pulsing heart. He blinks once, in those red, vampire lights, and that’s all they need to say, because they keep dancing, and Kokichi tries not to think about how King and Queen really coaxed him out here after all.  
A year of combat and chases, and they end up here. The detective and the thief. Ouma and Saihara, speaking in a cafe. Kokichi and Shuichi, curled up on the couch and watching teen comedy. It’s like a bad joke. A detective and a thief walk into a coffee shop. Two roommates exit.   
Saihara isn’t wearing a mask, but Kokichi can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t. Is this confidence natural? Is he trying his best to stay calm in front of a figure he’s scared of? Saihara is a terrible liar, so why can’t Kokichi figure him out? Why does he bandage his wounds and make him tea and then chase him around the country? What would Kokichi think of him if they’d met like normal people? Would Saihara still dance with him?

That’s stupid to think of. He doesn’t want Saihara to dance with him.

It’s a joke, Kokichi tells himself, as they circle the stage. It’s a joke. A play between criminal and officer. They’re teasing, play-acting, and Saihara’s smile doesn’t mean anything, the way it melts like taffy, the way he’s kind and open and makes Kokichi feel drunker than the wine. Maybe it’s the wine, the thing that’s making the red lights blur and swing with the music and each movement feel nauseating, feel too much.   
The strings pull up, hold the note, one long sound, and he can hear other instruments with them, distantly wonders how many people are playing, if they _planned_ this, this song and this dance and this- joke, this big joke, why isn’t he laughing.   
The note holds, fades out, and then falls back down, and fades. Saihara stops, and he stops, so swiftly that Saihara’s coat swings sideways. Like a chandelier.

There is no music playing. They stare at each other. Saihara isn’t smiling anymore.  
Even through the gloves, Kokichi can feel his cold hands, like frostbite, burning into his skin.

“Thank you for the dance, detective.”

Saihara’s thumb moves, brushes over his knuckles, just gently, just as his hands pull away, leave Kokichi feeling even colder. He tucks them behind his back as he bows. “And you, my thief.”

Kokichi is hot all over, is frozen, is melting. He pulls a card from his pocket, unplanned and panicked, and he shoves it into Saihara’s chest, lets it fall when he fails to catch it. “DICE, out!” He calls, surprised that his voice doesn’t crack, and then he bolts. He swears he’s swaying as he runs, the alcohol hitting him only now, because he’s always been a lightweight, that’s why his head feels full, his stomach sick, why he leans on King when he catches up and they run together. It’s all a blur, sprinting through the school, not sure if Saihara is following, meeting his goons around corners and coming out of classrooms, until there are nine of them running like a pack of wolves. They burst into the parking lot, watch the headlights of a car flick on, and they all pile in, spilling over each other, Kokichi riding shotgun, and he still can’t breathe.

None of them say anything until they’re on the highway, and then he leans around his chair, pointing at King and Queen. 

“Never play me like that again,” he warns them.

They don’t look the least bit sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: im a dumbass and forgot to add this. here's the song they were dancing to.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Blqe-dUGz90


	3. and evidence of your fingerprints was found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sneers, moving sideways. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’ve stolen, detective?”
> 
> Saihara’s eyes flick to the empty hanger, the card sitting in its hold, the painting above it, the others in this room. “This is a contemporary section, and the painting above it is-”
> 
> “Your heart,” Kokichi interrupts, because he can’t watch Saihara figure it out, can’t see his eyes light when he does, can’t watch him look and know it’s him and for that soft smile to twist to hatred when he knows it’s Ouma under the mask.
> 
> Saihara’s gaze snaps to him, almost comical. He laughs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this is out a little later than i intended but i ended up changing some plans and rearranging a few scenes. anyway, I hope you enjoy!! we are really in it now, lads.  
> your comments are so kind and encouraging and they made me smile every time I thought back to them, and I'm so so glad to hear people are enjoying this. you make me want to make longer, better updates- I hope this one lives up to your expectations! you all rock.  
> (also, I've decided to up this to five chapters, to give myself a little more breathing room with the plot beats!)

Kokichi’s never had a roommate before. Not officially, anyway. He’s lived with every single member of DICE at some point, both in and out of houses, and he’s lived with each of his other friends. But he hasn’t had a house like this, where they’ve got their own space and aren’t squished together, where he doesn’t feel like he’s being a burden.   
Saihara is always pleased to see him, and it’s weird, because no one’s pleased to see him like that except DICE, and he’s known DICE for over a decade. No matter what, how tired Saihara looks or how frustrated he seems, no matter if Kokichi has set off all the fire alarms or spilled glitter glue over the carpets, Saihara always seems pleased to see him.  
And it would be easier if it was a blind adoration- that would make sense. But Saihara gets grumpy with him sometimes, will get over his shyness to tell Kokichi how stupid he is, will put his foot down and make him clean the bathrooms and will curse when he steps in a puddle of alcohol. But it never lasts- as soon as it’s taken care of and Kokichi has refused to admit blame but still cleaned it up and offered a distraction, Saihara will smile again and fidget with his hands and laugh. Kokichi keeps annoying Saihara and Saihara keeps getting annoyed, and he keeps on forgiving him and opening up his home and offering him things.

After they’ve been living together for a month, Saihara brings him home a cake from the cafe where they’d first met- the same cake, pink and three-tiered and covered in white chocolate glaze and strawberries. 

“I was grabbing a coffee before I headed home, and I saw it and thought of you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking along the ground, the same pink blooming on his cheeks. 

Kokichi had stared at the cake and the gesture had been so much that all he could do was snatch it and run to his bedroom and not even look at Saihara until he’d eaten the whole thing with his fingers, huddled under a blanket like if he got caught with a present from Saihara he’d be in trouble. Saihara had been particularly awkward the next day, stuttery and nervous, and he’d ended up apologizing and saying he didn’t want Kokichi to feel like he had to pay it back or anything.  
Kokichi knew he didn’t have to pay it back. He never felt guilty about taking what he was given, because when you grow up in a constantly shifting home and the stuff you own is always at risk of being taken, you take what you can when you can and you know that you won’t have it later. He didn’t have any problem accepting gifts, no matter who they were from. 

But the knowledge that Saihara was coming home, to their home, saw a cake and thought of him, and then bought it for him, and wanted to give it to him, because he liked thinking of him, because he wanted to…. It’s too much. Kokichi goes to bed and dreams of confrontations in dark alleyways, of heists gone wrong, of DICE staring at him, disappointed, as he lets Saihara get too close. 

If you’re going to lie to yourself, you might as well make it a good lie, because it’s going to become a part of you whether you want it to or not. Kokichi enjoys their games, and that’s the truth. He likes seeing Saihara flustered and then seeing him determined. He likes knowing he knows more than Saihara. He likes when they meet at night, Kokichi with his arms full of gold, or art, or cheap candy because he broke into a government office and only robbed the vending machine, and looking at Saihara and thinking _I saw you sleeping just a few hours ago. I saw you vulnerable and soft and I don’t know why you’re so naive and friendly and shy and then so bold and wise. I don’t know who you are, Saihara._

He gets a bit cocky, as the weeks pass, until they’ve lived together for a month and a half and know all the vulnerable, awkward pieces of someone only housemates can know. Kokichi knows that Saihara is frightened of his own friends, that he has to speak to his boss with Kokichi in the same room for support. Saihara knows that Kokichi is terrified of bugs. Kokichi knows that Saihara will sometimes sleep in his clothes, or wear them for days in a row. Saihara knows that Kokichi has days where he won’t eat. Kokichi knows Saihara’s ever-changing schedule even better than Saihara does, gets a sense for when he’s going to be home late or leaving early. Saihara starts setting out socks before he leaves the house, because otherwise Kokichi won’t wear them. Kokichi always cooks on the weekends, when Saihara is preparing for the next big chase. Saihara restocks the fridge with all Kokichi’s favourites, even when he doesn’t have to. Kokichi brings home coffee and smokes and reminds Saihara to come out for food when he’s working in his study for hours at a time.  
He’s never had a system like this, with someone who sits and observes him, notices things that no one else would, then gets up and goes to fill in all the empty spaces in Kokichi’s life. He becomes a little reliant on Saihara, but Saihara’s reliant on him, too. They watch the same mystery show every Friday night, together with popcorn between them. Saihara, casual and unknowing, tosses a set of keys to Kokichi as he leaves, not knowing that he’s helping orchestrate a crime he’ll later be forced to solve. 

All his life, Kokichi felt like he had to earn people’s care. He looked after DICE, he protected them, talked them out of trouble, stole them whatever they needed, and now he has an undying trust that is so powerful he doesn’t know what to do with it except turn it into fireworks. Miu and Kiibs and Rantaro, he loves them, he does, but he knows he’s an annoyance, balanced out by his own entertainment value, by the time he spent with them, years of begrudging fondness. He doesn’t know what to do with all this care from Saihara, who just looked at him in the coffee shop and decided he wouldn’t mind having Kokichi in his life, making models at his kitchen table, staining his sink, smuggling small animals into his bed. Kokichi has a dislikable personality, he knows that. He’s tiring to be around, but he makes up for it by being confident and cheerful and generous in the ways that count.  
(DICE don’t think he’s tiring, but they don't count. After all they’ve been through, they kind of have no choice but to love him. Unintentional Stockholm syndrome. Found family, right down to all the annoyances you just have to accept.)

Who is Saihara to decide, knowing him for just a month, no history to tie them together and no mutual friends to force them to get along, that he likes Kokichi? That he doesn’t find him annoying?  
Kokichi wonders if he’d be disappointed by who his elusive phantom thief turned out to be.

\--

“Why are we always doing this at my apartment now?” Kokichi asks, his eyes narrowed. His three raccoons of friends sniff around his kitchen for snacks. “What happened to the coffee shop?”

“You just miss the coffee shop because we always paid for you,” Kiibo says, opening up his fridge. “And you’ve got a really nice coffee machine here.”

“Sure, I liked you paying. But I also liked you not being in my house every week.” Kokichi eyes the way Miu is flipping the knobs and switches around the coffee machine. “That thing is Saihara’s baby. If you break it, I’ll send him after you.”

“Relax, shithead,” she calls over her shoulder. “It doesn’t need any maintenance, so I won’t fuck with it. He takes good care of it.” Of course he does. Saihara drinks more coffee than water. His caffeine addiction is more concerning than his nicotine one. “Although with a few upgrades I bet I could get it working faster…. Automatically adding syrup- I could put in a….”  
Kokichi hops up onto the kitchen counter so he’s eye-level with her, swinging his legs and putting on a sing-song voice and a dark smile. “If you do anything to that machine, I’ll kill you~”

“Eeeh…” She shrinks away from it, looking at him in a mix of horny terror. Kokichi keeps smiling until she looks away, shuddering. “You give me the creeps, shrimpdick.”

“Saihara has taught me many psychological tricks for interrogating people.”

Kiibo sighs, finally closing the fridge after finding the cream and the milk (hidden amongst several vegetables and leftover soups, because Saihara never drinks it), sliding them over the counter. “No, that’s definitely all you,” he says. Kiibo has such a droney voice. Kokichi blinks at him.

“Huh? How do you know? Are you using your robot powers to scan my brain?”

Predictably, Kiibo’s face squishes up and his droney voice starts whining. “I am not a robot, Kokichi, we’ve been over this! And even if I was, a humanoid AI would not have the ability to perform scans like that!”

“Pretty useless robot, then.”

Rantaro, calm as ever, slips between the three of them and turns on the coffee machine, setting a mug under the dispenser. “He’s just winding you up, Kiibo,” he says. 

Kiibo tosses his head, the movement as stiff as it is imperious. “I know,” he says.

Kokichi just snickers, still swinging his legs.

Miu snatches the mug as soon as it’s filled, pouring cream directly into it. Kokichi makes an offhand comic about how all that fat is definitely going to go to her hips, she tells him it’s going to her boobs, actually, and Kiibo makes a sound like an overheated computer dying down. Rantaro just laughs, making a second cup and passing that one to Kiibo, then flipping a few more switches and making a third for himself, leaning back against a cabinet and just watching. 

“All I’m saying is that there’s no problem with a girl being fat- girls always look great with extra weight. But someone as tiny as you will end up looking like a gremlin if you don’t eat more, you’re giving yourself fucking scurvy with your regular diet-”

“I thought I already looked like a gremlin, Miu, which is it? Am I a gremlin, or am I going to become one? Are you saying you think I look cute now?”

“I’m saying you’ll become even more of a gremlin if you don’t shut up!”

“I thought it was if I didn’t eat, but now it’s if I don’t shut up?”

“Can you two please not do this every five minu-”

Twin cries of “shut _up_ , Kiibo,” and then-

“Um, Ouma?”

Ouma whirls around. Saihara stands in the doorway of their living room-kitchenette, looking like he’d rather melt through the floor than be here, in his own house.

The others shut up, immediately, and Kokichi bounds over the table, feeling oddly embarrassed. (He’s never embarrassed, though.) “My beloved Saihara,” he croons, then realizes that sounds too close to _my beloved detective_ , and tries to distract from it. “I thought you were at work!” He’d told Saihara he was having friends over that day, and Saihara had nodded and said he had work, anyway. And even if he didn’t have work, Saihara would probably scarper off to a cafe or train or one of his own friends, either out of his crushing sense of politeness or the fact he’d probably prefer to swallow glass than talk to strangers. (How on earth does this man make it as a detective. Kokichi still doesn’t know.)

“I- I was. I mean, I am. I just forgot some stuff….” He’s visibly sweating, gaze fixed firm on the ground, shrinking back into his coat. It’s quite pathetic, honestly, so embarrassing to watch that Kokichi feels pitiful. That’s why he slides around the counter and wraps his arms around the detective. 

“Saihara-chan is sooooo forgetful,” he chirps, directing the detective into the living room, around the corner from the open kitchen so that the counter and the people behind it are out of sight. “He should always rely on me for reminding him about his things!” Once they’re away from the others, Kokichi bounces on his feet. “Whatcha need?” 

Saihara immediately looks more relaxed, his throat bobbing when he swallows, rearranging his face into a still-nervous smile. “Oh, I don’t- I don’t want to bother you, Ouma, I just, um. I just need some documents, and, ah, my laptop.”

“You forgot your laptop?” Kokichi stares at him, disappointed as a parent at a PTA. “Wow, you really do need me, huh?”

Saihara laughs, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Sorry to be such a bother. I don’t even know where I put those papers…” He slides a hand down his face. “My boss is going to be so mad at me.”

Kokichi has had near-on fifteen years of looking after a steadily growing gang of clowns. He knows how to get someone out of trouble. “Ok, hang tight, I’ll go grab your shit. Tell your boss that your terrible roommate moved it out of your bag while cleaning and that you’ve already told him off.”

“But you didn’t-” Saihara protests weakly, as if he really cares about Kokichi’s reputation in front of someone he’ll (hopefully) never meet.

“I know you can’t lie to save your life but just look really frustrated and you’ll be fine. Your laptop is charging by the couch, by the way. I’ll go get the papers.” Kokichi dashes toward the door before Saihara can protest further, then twirls in place and points a finger at Rantaro. “Amami, get this man a coffee before he keels over.”

Rantaro gives a mock salute as Kokichi runs out, reaching in his pocket as he dashes down the hallway until he reaches Saihara’s room. He jiggles the knob- locked, which is to be expected, because Saihara is a paranoid bitch, and then pulls out his picks. He’s already figured out that this door cracks pretty easily to a small hook, but he can’t really afford to lose time here, so he goes for a snake pick.   
His strategy is proven right when it only takes a few moments for the door to click open. Kokichi tucks the picks away again, already plotting his next story to Spades about Why You Should Always Keep Your Lockpicks On You, Even in Your Own Home. Slipping into Saihara’s room, he plans to scan the place until he spots any stand-out folders, but then it hits him. 

This is Saihara’s room.

He’s been in before, of course, but not for long, poking his head in to drag Saihara out, investigating his belongings, staring at his photos for a little too long. His bed is a mess, the covers all tangled up in the sheets, mugs crowded on his nightstand, half-melted candles sitting on his window sill, on his bookcase. The whole place smells a little like water, and nice wood, and cocoa. He assumes it’s the candles, that they’re what also gives Saihara that faint smell on his clothes.  
Kokichi shakes his head, quickly. That was dumb. That was meaningless. Quickly, he darts across the room, until he’s reached the bed, pressed up against the white walls and covered in dark blue blankets. There’s another candle on the table by it, surrounded by those empty mugs, and the smell of cocoa is even stronger.   
He ignores it and flips through the blankets around the pillows, until he pulls out a collection of crumpled paper, half-in and half slipping out of a red folder.  
Kokichi closes the door behind him but doesn’t lock it, returning to the living room in less than a minute. It feels like it was longer, though, in Saihara’s white bedroom, with his books and his clothes all around and his presence hanging in the air. Saihara, hastily stuffing his laptop in its bag, looks up and his eyes light.

“How did you know what I needed?” He asks.

“You left your room unlocked this morning and you were tired as balls. I figured you were up working last night, and I assumed you were working on whatever has your boss particularly pissy at the moment, and I assumed you probably forgot them or left them under your pillow or something. Which you did.” Kokichi inspects his hand, turning it in the light. (Rantaro just did his nails a few days ago. Blue and purple this week, like a soda float.) 

Saihara takes the papers and smooths them out, flicking through them. He tucks them into their stupid red folder, and then he grabs his stupid laptop bag, and he looks at Kokichi like he hung the moon. “You’re a lifesaver, Ouma.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “If you get fired I’ll have to pay more rent.”

Saihara laughs, softly, and Kokichi can’t bear to look at him any longer, so he looks over to the kitchen, and- “in a TRAVEL MUG, you whore!” He shouts at Rantaro, sprinting over before he can add milk. Kokichi elbows his friends out of the way and grabs one of the plastic Starbucks travel mugs and pours the dark coffee into it, shoving the now-empty regular mug over to Miu with an order of “clean it, bitch.” He reaches in their drinks shelf (full of tea leaves and syrups and spices) for Saihara’s favourite caramel syrup, and adds two teaspoons, just how he likes it. Kokichi slams on the lid and tightens it, flips it upside down to doublecheck that it’s secure, and then moves round the counter to deliver it to his waiting detective. 

Saihara blinks, bag on his shoulder and folder tucked under his arm, and his face goes very pink. “Th-thanks, Ouma. I owe you one.”

“Bring me home a treat and I’ll call it even,” Kokichi grins, bouncing up on his tiptoes in an overly childish manner and ignoring how his stomach flutters. 

Saihara laughs again, moves toward the door, then hesitates. He opens his mouth, glances over at Kokichi’s friends, and closes it. He ducks his head, going even redder. “See you s-soon,” he stammers, and then he disappears down the stairs.

“Remember my present!” Kokichi calls after him. He watches him go, coffee in one hand and his work in the other, coat flapping around his ankles, hat low on his head. He watches, right up until Saihara reaches their front door at the bottom of the stairs and turns around to give him a last smile. He watches until the door’s closed behind him and Saihara is gone.

Kokichi turns around to find all three of his friends staring at him.

“What?” He asks, not at all defensive.

They exchange conspiratorial glances that only make him more not-defensive. “I have never seen you be that nice to someone,” Miu says after a moment.

“I basically told him he was an idiot,” Kokichi argues. 

“Well, yeah,” Kiibo says. “But if it were one of us, you would have actually said we were an idiot.”

“You wouldn’t have helped like that, either,” Miu says, but she’s grinning, not angry, smirking at him like she knows anything at all. “You’d have just yelled at where our stuff was and not moved.”

Kokichi sighs heavily, raising his head in a princely manner. “Didn’t I already say? If Saihara gets fired, I’ll have to pay higher rent. I’m not paying higher rent. I need him to keep that job, and I can’t have him exploding from stress, either.”

Rantaro, calm and smug and sly, lowers his mug after taking a sip and says, “What kind of treat are you expecting, Kokichi?”

All three of them laugh at him, and he can feel his face heating up even though he does his best to will it away- Ouma Kokichi does not blush, he does not get flustered. “A cake, darling Rantaro,” he says, a sweet voice slipping out through gritted teeth. “Why? Were you thinking of something dirty? Was big brother Rantaro thinking of something disgusting? Are you a pervert, Rantaro?”

Rantaro just shrugs, taking another sip. “Just make sure you use protection.”

Miu cackles like a hyena in heat. Kokichi sends lasers at her through his eyes. “I hate you,” he says. “Worst friends ever. I can’t stand your guts.” 

Kiibo laughs, clinking his mug against Rantaro’s. “I think this is the first time we’ve caught you in a lie, Kokichi.”

\--

It’s not a lie, though. Kokichi doesn’t care about Saihara and he isn’t awkward when he receives his cake later, like he deserves, and he does hate his friends. He hates them so much that he can’t stop thinking about their terrible, awful, not-funny jokes even days later, when he’s meant to be picking open a window. He can’t stop thinking about how things have been stiff with Saihara ever since they made those stupid jokes, about how Kokichi’s been rude and snappish and he’s looked hurt, which is good, because it means he might stop trying to be friends and learning things about Kokichi and getting closer to the truth. 

“Boss?” Clubs whispers from above him, holding a walkie-talkie in one hand and a rope in the other, her old boots pressed up tight on the roof tiles. “Do you need some light down there?”

Kokichi shakes himself out of it and gives her a reassuring smile, tilting his head a little more. “Nah. Just got distracted.” He takes a breath, puts himself out of those thoughts, and presses in the hook once more. He doesn’t need light, just feels around for a few moments before he finds the pins, pressing them down carefully until the latch pops up and the window lifts. He shifts along the sill, making room to weasel through it.  
Clubs stares through the glass, looking at the paintings, all set on display, waiting for an auction only a few days away. Realistically, all their owners have been found, their prices set, each person who plans to win already knows they will, with tens of thousands of dollars set aside. Kokichi knows that most of these pieces will go to galleries or museums, and he has nothing against that, honestly. But some of them are set to go to someone’s summer home, their second high-rise apartment, their European cottage. He hopes that someone looking for a new knick-knack is disappointed. 

“Lotta security round here,” Clubs says, looking at Kokichi from under her bangs. It’s that subtle have-you-bitten-off-more-than-you-can-chew-boss look that he hates, that makes him feel guilty right down to his core. He smiles at her, reaches over to flick her nose.

“That’s why we had Spades go down and shut off all those alarms, right?”

She chews on her bottom lip, hesitating. “Right, but- but there’ll be guards and stuff.”

“There’s guards in every gallery, lovely Clubs. We’ll get past them fine. All you’ve gotta do is wait up here for Ace, okay? Then you can slip down together-”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, idiot,” she says, fondly, shifting her feet on the roof. “Just… be careful, okay?” 

“Clubs,” he says, slipping his lower body through the window, “I’m always careful.”

He drops through that angled glass pane, the floor twelve feet below, but the rope around his waist snags and catches, and he looks up to see Clubs gripping it tight, mouthing curses at him as she grabs it and staggers up the roof, waiting until she’s got a firmer grip and then slowly lowering him. He beams up at her, vogueing and posing as she lowers him, until his feet can reach the ground. Giving her a thumbs up, he reaches for the rope and unwinds it from his waist, tugging twice and watching her nod in response and heave it up. Kokichi adjusts his mask and takes a breath. 

Let’s get to work.

The security guards in this building circle it in shifts. There are six working, one minding the monitors, which are pointed at the walls which display the paintings in each room. Sticking to the outskirts of the gallery should keep him out of their view. If any alarms are tripped, if there’s any sign he’s spotted, he’ll just have to make a break for it. Kokichi weaves through the gallery, every sound echoing in his ears, his own breath like thunder.   
He moves through two rooms before he has to hide, ducking behind a circular sculpture and listening for the footsteps of the night guard, counting in his head. Kokichi is small, small enough that people mistake him for a child sometimes. It’s something that earned him a lot of teasing and assumptions that he’d be an easy target, when it’s the opposite. White flashlights scan the room, arrows of light aiming at the sculpture and missing their mark, Kokichi’s form curled up tight behind the Mobius shapes. He waits as the footsteps pass, the flashlight still aimed forward, until they’re down the endless hallways of the gallery, and then he moves forward again.

The gallery is like a dream, strange shapes and colors stretching from the dark, white shadows on every wall, doorways that lead him in circles, round and around and left and right- a maze, artistic in itself, showcasing every piece of psyche around him. Kokichi falls into a pattern, listening for the guards, timing their appearances, seeking every hiding place he can fit his scrawny body into. His white uniform pressed to the wall, his heart thudding away, the guards, tired and bored and sleepy, winding their way through the halls.   
He gets into such a rhythm that he doesn’t think about Saihara, doesn’t think about his friends, doesn’t think at all. He’s just living in the rush of being somewhere he shouldn’t, moving like liquid, white on white, dreaming everything he comes across.  
And then he moves to another of those long rooms, sculpture and paintings pressed against the wall, and his heart catches, because there it is. 

Night flowers, two paintings sitting atop of each other, one purple, one blue. Even from the other side of the room, they catch his eye, blur in his vision, a series of dots and color connecting into more dreamlike shapes. 

-

“Hey, what’s your favourite painting, Saihara?”

Saihara had looked up with a start, pushing his laptop’s lid down. He was sitting on their couch, Kokichi creeping up behind and sliding over the back of it. He laughed a little, mouth quirked, and reached out to push the hair out of his eyes. “Um, why do you ask?”

It was risky, he knew that. Kokichi lifted up the newspaper. “Didn’t your phantom thief send a message declaring he was going to steal a precious piece of art?” He did, indeed. All over the police precinct, in purple spray paint. 

Saihara’s brow furrowed, for just a moment. “Why, do you think he’s targeting me?” There was an odd quality to his voice- like it was being kept too smooth, forced calm. Like there was a lie in that question. Kokichi frowned.

“Do you think that’s something he would do?”

Saihara flushed, lowering his head. “N-no, I doubt it. Um. I guess…” He’d trailed off, thinking. “I like Michelangelo’s work, but that’s pretty cliche, huh?”

“Why do you like him?” Kokichi had asked. He didn’t know why- it’s not like he could steal the Sistine chapel. 

“I guess I… relate to him? H-his art, it’s really… complex, um, and he had a historically interesting relationship with the church. Sorry, I’m not much of an art collector…” Saihara looked sheepish, as if he hadn’t just dropped some facts about a foreign artist Kokichi knew less than nothing about.

“That’s really clever, Saihara-chan! Even I didn’t know that, and I know a lot about art.”

Saihara had laughed, his honey-eyes crinkled. “W-well, I did a project on him when he was younger, and he kind of stuck with me. But I suppose…” He’d thought for a moment, covering his mouth with a hand. “I really like Kusama.”

Kokichi thought for a moment, dipping back to his experience in various museums. “She’s the… dots lady, right?”

“Yep. She also made _Infinity Mirrored Room_.” Saihara’s gaze went a little distant, mellowed out. “My mother took me there, when I was younger. It was a treat, just before she left for America. I’ve never forgotten it- it was like a dream. I stayed in there so long that she left to go and look at the other exhibits.” He laughed, like it was a sweet anecdote and not a deeply worrying statement about how he was parented.

Kokichi couldn’t exactly steal an entire installment of mirrors. “That’s not a painting, Saihara.”

“No, it’s not.” Saihara’s gaze, melancholy and sweet, snapped back up to Kokichi’s face. “I like her _Night Flowers,_ then.”

“ _Night Flowers_?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of getting some of the prints- the copies, I mean. The originals are a little out of my budget.” He laughed, setting his laptop aside and turning to fully face Kokichi, leaning against the back of the couch. “It’s a newer painting, I think. I remember seeing something about them online, and I thought they were- just lovely. They looked like something right out of a dream.”

“Show me! Show me, show me!” Kokichi had bounced against the back of the couch, slipped down further, and peered over Saihara’s shoulder. And Saihara had opened his laptop, and shown him, and then the conversation had turned to movies, and Kokichi’s favourite books, and Kokichi had hoped the original topic was forgotten. 

-

Kokichi stares at the night flowers from across the room. They seem to glow in the dim light, blue and purple mixing and spilling. He knows they’ll probably be bought as a pair, but he should only grab one. He doesn’t want anyone to come looking for them, after all.  
Slowly, he crosses over. He’s in view of the cameras now, certainly, but it’s no problem. He’ll be out before they notice. Kokichi reaches the paintings, brushing his finger over the frames. Little placards are stuck next to them- Night Flowers, and Night Flowers B. A matching set, framed prints in contrary colors. He reaches up for the blue one, the glowing blue-green sea colored picture, but his gaze lags a little on the print above it. Those purple flowers, all in a row, lonely without their companion.   
He hesitates, just for a moment, and a flashlight fixes its beam on him. 

Kokichi looks over, blinking above the light, cold panic hitting him before he can breathe- and then he sees Saihara, and it increases exponentially. 

“I thought I would find you here,” Saihara murmurs.

Kokichi picks up the painting, sliding his signature card into the hanger with sleight of hand that comes as easy as moving, as turning to fully face the detective. He tucks it against his side and raises an eyebrow, even if it’s covered, as always, by his mask. “My dear detective, you’re going to have me thinking you’re stalking me.”

“You covered my workplace in bright purple paint that explicitly said you were going to aim for an art piece,” he says dryly.

“There’s no reason to suspect I would be here, though,” Kokichi says, his heart shuddering in his chest, every nerve in his body ready to hear Saihara laugh and say “ _you’re not very subtle, Ouma,”_ to smirk at him, cruel and cold, to hold out a set of cuffs. 

Saihara doesn’t do that. He just hums, dense and brilliant all at once. “Your wording implied you were aiming for something precious- something important both culturally and financially. I figured that the upcoming international auction was the most obvious place for you to strike.”

“And you played on that chance, even when I could have been misleading you?” Kokichi asks, mentally cursing himself. He hadn’t checked if Saihara was in bed before he left that evening. Saihara could have been waiting here all night, circling the building as a secret seventh guard, watching the cameras more intently than any worker would. 

Saihara shrugs, his long coat casting shadows on the floor. “I figured you wouldn’t bother with something like that. You’re the sort of person who wants attention.”

Kokichi laughs, high and cruel in his throat. “Oh, am I?” He steps forward, like he planned this all along, like he wanted Saihara here, like he hadn’t misstepped with that warning, like he had really expected Saihara to be waiting here for him. “You make a lot of dangerous choices based on your view of my personality, beloved detective.”

“You haven’t proved me wrong yet,” Saihara says, calm and frustrating and staring at him, and Kokichi can’t tell if he wants him to stare forever or to look away. He can’t tell if he wants Saihara to ask what painting he’s got, if he wants Saihara to reach out and catch him, if he wants to spit in his face, shut his eyes forever, run out of the spotlight and into the shadows. 

He sneers, moving sideways. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’ve stolen, detective?”

Saihara’s eyes flick to the empty hanger, the card sitting in its hold, the painting above it, the others in this room. “This is a contemporary section, and the painting above it is-”

“Your heart,” Kokichi interrupts, because he can’t watch Saihara figure it out, can’t see his eyes light when he does, can’t watch him look and know it’s him and for that soft smile to twist to hatred when he knows it’s Ouma under the mask.

Saihara’s gaze snaps to him, almost comical. He laughs. 

“You think about me so much, detective,” he says, his voice slimy and sugared and despicable. “I’ve really consumed your thoughts, haven’t I? Do you ever have a day you aren’t thinking of me? Dreaming of me? Really, I’ve owned you ever since you took my case.” His mouth curls into a poisonous smile, the mask biting into his face. “You can try to catch me all you like, but my dear detective, Saihara Shuichi, private investigator turned assistant detective,” he steps forward with every word, bitter in his mouth but true, a heavy truth that rips through his tongue, “you’re the one who is caught. Who has been, since you first laid eyes on me.” 

He stops in front of Saihara. He hasn’t stopped counting, since he arrived in this room. Another guard should be passing by in a few seconds, if more aren’t coming from the security footage. If more aren’t waiting in this dark room, ready to strike as soon as Saihara orders them to. Ready to rip his guts out. 

They’re just as close as they were weeks ago, when they danced together. The thought makes Kokichi _burn,_ his heart ash and bone. They’ve never gotten this close since, always kept a few feet between them. Saihara leans down, his eyes grey in the quiet of the gallery. “If you hate me,” Saihara says, quietly. “Why do you keep letting me follow you?”

Kokichi narrows his eyes. He thinks maybe Saihara can see them, behind the mask, dark and glinting. “You’re fun to play with,” he purrs, reaching up to place a hand on Saihara’s chest. It falters, slides off like butter. He doesn’t swallow. He doesn’t steel himself. “Won’t you chase me, detective?”

Saihara tenses. Kokichi darts back. He relaxes. Kokichi does, too. He opens his mouth. Kokichi moves back again. He steps back himself, and Kokichi steps forward.

Saihara starts running, or he starts running, or they both start running at the same time, but they’re running, sprinting out of the dark room together with their feet pounding, Kokichi’s painting tucked up against his heart. He can hear the shouts of security guards as they run by, and Saihara doesn’t answer them, just keeps chasing.

Kokichi’s always one step ahead, even when he’s taken by surprise. Saihara is faster than him, Saihara is agile, but Saihara doesn’t know the best climbing spots, isn’t prepared to skid to a halt and juke sideways, doesn’t expect that Kokichi will leap onto a pot plant and then onto a desk, up to a filing cabinet and then to the one window in the room, high and round and so easy to break through when you aim your elbow right, when you jump and let gravity drag you into it, all your body weight pinned to the glass as you curl up and tumble through.  
Kokichi rolls, feels himself get cut again, dragged against the glass, and he still hears yelling- Saihara’s now, something about going around, but when he looks up, the detective has his hands stuck into the broken glass and he’s heaving himself up, barely able to get his upper body through. Kokichi watches as he presses his belly to the shattered glass and groans in pain, but he slides through it and Kokichi scrambles to his feet and grips his painting and _runs,_ runs and runs until he can’t hear the shouts anymore, can’t hear his own feet pounding over concrete, can’t hear anything but his heartbeat. He runs until he slams into the city and has to shelter in an alley and catch his breath, pull out his calculator-phone and tell a very panicked Diamonds that he’s got to loop back around. He’s okay, he tells her. 

Kokichi, bleeding and panicked and taken by surprise, beams as he runs through the city.

\--

He’s dropped home an hour later, and only because he argues very well that he needs to be back before Saihara. DICE want to keep him, want to fuss over his wounds and panic. Mage’s hands were covered in antiseptic, wrapping bandages around his arms and his shoulder, whining anxiously about the scars he’s ripped open, about how he’s twisted his ankle again. Spades kept saying “that wasn’t s’posed to happen, that went wrong,” over and over again until Kokichi’s given himself a headache listening to it. King and Queen, chiming in one after the other, kept asking what they were going to do with the painting, wouldn’t listen when he said he wanted to keep it. Their whole party was an anxious ball of energy, all of them thinking about how Kokichi’s big heists kept getting out of control.  
He could tell they were thinking it. But they were wrong. He was fine, basically uninjured, and it had been great fun. By the time they’ve dropped him off, he’s got them all laughing about it, seeming comforted, and sure he’s okay. Because he is okay. He had fun, that’s why he’s still smiling when he moves through the kitchen, careful not to put pressure on his sprained foot. He’s making tea, not coffee, because it’s late and Saihara will be tired. And he’s tired, too. Mage would approve, probably give a spiel about the healing properties of various leaves. 

When Saihara enters, he freezes in the doorway for a few seconds, even after Kokichi waves. Then he sighs, hanging up his coat and moving over to sit across from him at the counter, leaning his head in his hands. “I thought you were a ghost, at first,” he mumbles. “God, am I tired.”

“I made you peppermint tea,” Kokichi says, stirring in a little honey (not too much, because Saihara doesn’t like his tea too sweet). “You’re welcome, by the way. I know, I know, I’m the best roommate you’ve ever had.”

Saihara laughs, looking up through his fingers. “By far,” he agrees, and Kokichi does not feel guilty, even when he looks down and sees how Saihara's arms are bandaged, messy and hasty, how he’s no longer wearing his black shirt and is now in a blue, short-sleeved cotton thing. 

When Saihara looks at him and frowns, Kokichi realizes he gasped aloud. He swallows it back and reaches out, brushing his hands over the lazy bandages and watching Saihara flinch. “What happened?” He asks. 

(He knows.)

“I got a little overzealous chasing my thief,” Saihara sighs, lowering his hands and letting Kokichi inspect his wounds. “These aren’t so bad, my stomach-” he cuts himself off, but Kokichi knows what he’s going to say.

“You really fucked up your hands,” Kokichi murmurs. His own hands are fine, but his arms are bandaged up, kept hidden beneath a borrowed hoodie. “Dumbass.” He stands up, and leaves the room, ignoring Saihara’s questions, and returns with a first-aid kit. It’s Saihara’s, the one they keep in the bathroom. He laughs, because it’s funny, as he sits back down and peels off the cheap bandages on Saihara’s fingers. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

Saihara joins him in laughter, his voice soft, breathy in the night. “At least I didn’t do these myself.”

Kokichi looks up from where he’s dabbing on antiseptic. He raises an eyebrow. “Did you get them checked out, or did you just slap on some bandages and tell your team you were good?” Saihara shifts guiltily, looking away. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.” Kokichi refocuses on what he’s doing, flicking out the occasional grain of glass, washing out the wounds. Saihara hisses under his breath, but otherwise takes it like a champ. He stays completely still until Kokichi’s got his palms covered in gauze, his fingers taped up. “Now show me your stomach,” Kokichi orders.

“It’s not that bad,” Saihara tries. “R-really, it’s-”

“Stomach.”

Saihara sighs, standing up and lifting the blue shirt off, then sitting back down. His face is red again, and he’s very determinedly looking away.

Kokichi does a heroic job of not staring at his chest, and leans forward, carefully winding the clumsy gauze away from Saihara’s stomach. He sucks in his breath as he does. The wounds here aren’t as deep as the ones on his hands, but they’re long, red scrapes, skin like ribbons, still bleeding when he lifts the stained gauze. 

He bites his lip. “This is probably going to hurt.”

“C-can’t hurt more than it did when I went through that window,” Saihara murmurs. He’s looking at the ceiling.

Kokichi breathes in, tells himself that it’s only fair. Because Saihara fixed him up when he hurt himself. Because Saihara followed him through that window. It doesn’t mean anything.

He doesn’t let his gaze hitch on the shape of Saihara’s ribs as he works. He doesn’t let it linger on his stomach, thin but defined, pale as the milk Saihara refuses to drink. He cleans up the wounds, presses cotton balls to them until the bleeding slows, smooths cream over them and he doesn’t think _I’m touching Saihara’s stomach._

“O-Ouma?” Saihara asks, while Kokichi is dabbing disinfectant on a particularly deep scrape.

He hums in response, focused on what he’s doing. Each movement makes his own wounds ache in their bandages, and he stupidly, selfishly, doesn’t wonder what it would be like if Saihara had wrapped him up, instead of his friends. If he would have looked at him with such tender worry like he had when he cut himself.

“Thank you.”

Kokichi keeps his movements steady, doesn’t falter, doesn’t speak. When he pulls back, tosses the swab into the trash bag next to him, he shrugs, minutely. “It’s only fair.”

“Hah.” Saihara’s stomach moves a little when he laughs, even when it’s only a puff of air. He’s quiet again, letting Kokichi work. “Did I wake you up again?”

“It’s fine,” Kokichi says, ignoring how his heart moves. “I wake up all the time, anyway.” That’s not a lie, at least.

“Still. I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to get to sleep.” Saihara sighs out, heavy, and his bare chest rises and falls, lily-white in their kitchen. 

Kokichi never should have accepted this roommate arrangement. He drops his last cotton pad, and pulls out another strip of gauze and medical tape and some larger bandages. “Saihara, it’s fine. Stop worrying so much.” He presses down the bandage over a smaller cut, smoothing it out carefully. He looks up, and grins. “You’re a great roommate, okay? You don’t need to worry so much about me running away, or anything.” He cocks his head to the side, letting his impulses guide him. “Or maybe that’s a lie. Really, I’m planning on murdering you because the way you always make me breakfast and set out my socks really grinds my gears. I think all the ways you take care of me are suuuuuper annoying, seriously.”

Saihara doesn’t laugh. He just looks at Kokichi, soft and thankful and kind, and Kokichi looks down again. Just to focus on fixing up his wounds. Just to make sure the bandages are smooth.

\--

A week later, Kokichi has successfully convinced his gang that he’s not injured, and coaxed them into pulling off another heist. Still, their worry dug into him, hummed in his bone marrow like bees making hives, so they kept it lowkey. Stylish, though, breaking into a restaurant with an explosion of confetti and retrieving a collection of expensive wine. Saihara had stopped them in the parking lot, but Kokichi had had two goons by his side that laughed and completed his punchlines, and they escaped with no weird feelings, just a trio of friends jumping into a van and speeding off into the night. Diamonds had dropped him back home, and he’d gone to bed and pretended not to notice when Saihara got home and peeked through his open door, checked to make sure he was still asleep. 

It was nice, but he’s ready for another go. He doesn’t want to wait for the weekend, he wants to kick it off on a Wednesday. Shake it up a bit.

That’s what he tells Clubs as he stands, t-posing, in her flat, as Hearts drapes measuring tape around his arms, pinning alterations to his uniform.

“Come on, I know you guys want to dial it back a bit, and this is the perfect way! They’ve gotten too used to us striking on the weekends= you should see Saihara, he’s got his phone in his hand the whole time, waiting for the call. We should act soon, throw them all for a spin. They’ll never suspect it.”

Clubs tsks, crossing her arms behind her head and leaning back against her pillows. “I dunno, boss. You’re saying we do this and still do our usual weekend strike? It just seems a bit much.”

“Come onnn, it’ll be super casual. We’ll go big on the weekend, though. Don’t you miss when we used to punch in a bunch of little crimes throughout the week?”

“Sure I do, but then _your roommate_ figured out that the group doing those little crimes was the same group that was helping you steal national monuments,” she argues, pausing to run her tongue along her braces. 

Kokichi frowns. “He’s not- okay, it’s not like we’re friends. I’m spying on him.”

“Arms a little higher, boss,” Hearts pipes up, stitching in a row of Xs along the seams of Kokichi’s jacket. “Also, you totally have a crush on him.”

 _“What?”_ That gets him to raise his arms, definitely. Kokichi raises them like he’s flapping his wings and takes a step back, dragging a long trail of thread with him. “I do not have a crush on Saihara!”

Hearts sighs dreamily. “I can’t blame you, he’s so pretty. And smart. And he’s obsessed with you, too. Ugh, I would be all over that. Especially now that you’re rooming together? I mean, who wouldn’t, right?” He follows Kokichi over the floor, pulling the thread tight and resuming his stitching.

“I wouldn’t,” Clubs says, sitting up so sharply that her bob sways over her head. “Boss, you don’t actually like him, right? He’s basically a _cop_.”

“He’s not a cop,” Kokichi mumbles, averting his eyes. “And I don’t like him.” He can feel Clubs still staring at him, judging, so he looks over at her. “He isn’t! He’s a private investigator, he’s just helping them.”

She snorts, laying back down and staring at the ceiling. “Okay, first of all, that’s only slightly sexier than being a cop. I mean, we’re the most exciting thing that’s happened to the investigators in this country in the last decade. Second of all, you definitely have a crush on him.”

“See?” Hearts chimes in, tying a knot and pulling it tight. He picks up a pair of scissors from the bed and snips it loose, then moves over to Kokichi’s other arm. “I earned this nickname, Clubs, I know love when I see it. Wasn’t I the first one to call Mage and Jack?”

“They still aren’t together,” she points out, propping herself up with one elbow. 

Hearts just hums, stabbing a needle through Kokichi’s jacket with frightening speed. “They’re taking their time,” he says serenely. “They’ve got issues, those two.”

“Guys,” Kokichi says, his voice sticking in his own throat. “I do not have a crush on Saihara.”

“Okay, I’m not saying you do, boss, I’m just saying that if I were in your situation, I totally would,” Clubs says, reaching over for her phone and scrolling through it.

Kokichi frowns, feeling a little trapped between Hearts and his pins and Clubs and her sass. “Weren’t you the one just giving me shit for him being a cop?”

“Hey, at least he isn’t a politician, right?”

Hearts threads the needle through the jacket again, adding the finishing touches to the uniform with such steady precision that it’s hard not to feel endeared. Hearts is always reliable, no matter how flighty his, well, heart is. “Fool,” he says, looking up through his soft brown eyes, his skin discolored and patchy and his pink hair all fluffed up like a real clown’s. “I think Saihara is nice. He’s always making sure no one gets violent with us. And he could have caught me a few times, but he went after you, instead.”

Kokichi blinks. This is news to him. “Wait, really?”

“Uh huh. Like, ah…. The Chandelier Stunt. He had me at the restaurant, but he just looked around and then darted off after you.” Hearts pulls the thread through again, tying another tight knot. “You can lower your arms now. And take the jacket off, actually, I’ll applique the patches later.” He carefully folds up his sewing kit and flops onto the bed, Clubs lifting up her legs just before he crashes down. 

Kokichi nods, feeling a little dazed as he unbuttons the jacket. That…. Makes no sense. One of the only things he knows about Saihara, that he’s really certain of, is that Saihara wants to catch him. It was the first thing he knew, the one thing that’s remained constant. Why would Saihara let DICE go?

“I think there’s been a couple of times when he caught up with us, right?” Clubs asks, looking over to Hearts. He nods, and she shuffles up, opening her arms. As Hearts lights up and moves up the bed to hug her, the two of them leaning into the cushions and holding each other tight as siblings, she smiles up at Kokichi. “You’re his priority, I reckon. More glory in catching the Thief of Cards than just his cronies, right?”

“I guess…” Kokichi is disquieted by this realization. It’s a mix of things. Surely Saihara could have used DICE as bait for him, right? Logically, he knows that’s not what detectives do, but that doesn’t stop his mind from conjuring all sorts of awful scenarios where Saihara holds Hearts hostage, dangles Clubs from a cliff…. “You guys never said you got caught before.”

“Well, we haven’t been,” Clubs grins, tossing back her hair and shifting to almost cradle Clubs. She’s short but stocky, and he’s all limbs, so it makes a pretty funny picture- one that Kokichi can’t quite enjoy right now. He’s still thinking about them with Saihara’s hand on their shoulder, his hard eyes on their masks. 

Clubs and Hearts were best friends before Kokichi had even met them. They joined DICE together, a package deal, and they’ve remained that way, even when they’ve bonded with the others and put their faith in Kokichi and their love in the group as a whole. They’re as linked as King and Queen, just as opinionated, one always ready for love and the other always ready for a fight. And Saihara… Saihara got close enough to get them. He didn’t, and god knows why, but it’s Kokichi’s fault. That should never be a possibility.  
DICE should stay behind the scenes, untouchable. Clubs and Hearts should never look worried about anyone other than Kokichi. Saihara, even if he’s only after Kokichi, shouldn’t even know where DICE is. 

Kokichi goes quiet. Neither of them speak, they just watch him, waiting, patient as the night. 

“Let’s… let’s move on Wednesday,” he says, quietly. “But let’s skip the weekend.” He gives the pair a smile, wide on his face, as excited as he feels. “I’m giving you all the weekend off for good behaviour.”

Clubs and Hearts cheer, and dissolve into a pile of limbs and smiles, and drag him into their pile of warmth, and Kokichi lets his heart rate calm. 

\--

It’s Wednesday, which is why Kokichi is carrying a pile of jewelry out of a store, over the ventilation system, onto the roof, and back down into the dumpster on the other side of it. The alarms blare, but that’s okay, because they need a little bit of tension, right? They’ve got a head start, though, because no one will expect that it’s the Thief of Cards, not until they storm into the store and find the pack of cards scattered in the display case.   
Kokichi hauls himself out of the dumpster, a few rings slipping from his basket. He has to scrabble a little to get out, and thanks every deity he knows that the bins get emptied on Wednesdays. That doesn’t mean that it’s pleasant, and he’s pleased to be out of it and running down the streets again, weaving in and out of the city, leaping between pedestrians, cutting through gardens and driveways and climbing over fences. His path is untraceable. Unpredictable. DICE are set up far away, safe, ready to drive from the scene of the crime. They’re at no risk in this one. This is good, this is boring, this is fun seeing how people react to him running past, gasping and calling his moniker, _“the Thief of Cards is here!”  
_ There’s no danger, no bite to the sweetness, and it’s hard to enjoy himself without feeling like he’s working for it, risking it. Maybe he should pick up gambling.

It’s almost a relief when he jumps up a water tank, over a fence, lands in an alley, and feels Saihara grab his wrist.

Kokichi’s heart quickens, falls into a familiar rush as he tries to pull away. “Mister detective! What are you doing out here on this fine night.”

Saihara looks awful, sweaty and tired and panting. “Thief of Cards.”

“What? No, no, I think you’ve got the wrong man. The Thief of Cards only strikes on the weekends.” The initial excitement is starting to fade back into fear. How did Saihara know? Did he… know? Know, know?

Saihara has the good grace to look a little flustered. “I- I could just tell. Detective’s intuition.”

“Hm. Seems fake, but okay.” Kokichi tries to pull away, but his grip is tight. At least he’s not reaching for Kokichi’s mask, just staring at it. “Now, I know I’m very beautiful, detective, but I do have nine hungry mouths to feed….”

“With diamonds?” Saihara asks, glancing down to the basket. He frowns. “That’s not your usual target, is it?”

“I don’t usually strike on Wednesdays, either, but here we are.” Kokichi yanks his hand away again, but Saihara moves with it. “Hard times, I’m sure you understand.”

Saihara frowns. “You’d have to be particularly desperate to pull something like this,” he murmurs, like he’s not really listening. “Especially considering how much you care about your image. But desperate for what?”

“Not even I know,” Kokichi says, lies. “Desperate for you to let me go?”

Saihara glances down at his wrist, like he didn’t even know he was holding it. And then, astonishingly, he drops it, and steps back. 

Kokichi gapes. Fortunately, his mask hides it, and after a moment of frozen astonishment, he snatches his hand back and plants his hands on his hips. The clown mask smiles for him. “I honestly didn’t expect that to work.”

“It wouldn’t be right, to catch you like this,” Saihara murmurs. Then he straightens up, and bows. “Good night, Thief of Cards. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I got it,” Kokichi replies, raising the basket. This whole conversation is bizarre. “You sure you want to let me go? You’d probably get in trouble if your boss found out.” Your shitty boss, who makes you so stressed you come home and smoke, who makes you pass out studying the same case, who won’t let you investigate how you want. 

“Oh, they don’t know it’s you, yet,” Saihara says. “We’ll probably assume it’s a copycat thief. Especially considering there’s no sign of DICE around.”

Kokichi shifts his weight, more nervous about nice Saihara than stern Saihara. It’s a scary, new side to him, sleep-deprived and confused and letting the thief he’s been chasing for a year escape, scot-free, thousands of dollars of diamonds in his hands. “We?”

“I told you,” Saihara says. “It wouldn’t be right to catch you like this.” He smiles, and he steps back. “Will I see you this weekend?”

Kokichi stares at him. His thief voice won’t come out properly. When he speaks, it just sounds like Kokichi. “I don’t think so.”

Saihara nods. “Next week, then.”

\--

That Friday, after Saihara has ranted to Kokichi for an hour about how he doesn’t know why the thief would change his behaviour like that and how everyone assumes it was just a fake but he can tell it wasn’t- after he doesn’t mention the conversation but keeps trying to throw theories about why the thief would behave differently at the wall- after Kokichi just sits there and nods- he gets a call. Some guy named Kaito, who he goes to the gym with a few times a week and who he knows from university. Kokichi can hear Kaito’s voice through the phone from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a panta. He can also hear Saihara, murmuring stuff like _“I know,”_ and _“I’m sorry,”_ and _“it sounds fun, Kaito, but you know I’m not a party guy,”_ and _“they might still need me to come in.”_

“You should go,” Kokichi says, as soon as Saihara hangs up.

Saihara pulls a face. “I- I don’t know. I mean, it’s on the weekend, and-”

“He struck this Wednesday, right? He probably won’t do it again. I mean, he’d have to get the resources and plan and stuff, right? You’re probably clear. And if he does strike, so what? You’re not legally obligated to get to every heist, right?”

Saihara doesn’t seem convinced, covering his mouth with his hand, thumbing at his lip. “I- I guess not. As long as I see the crime scene, and file the paperwork… yeah. But I’ve never missed him before.” He looks up sharply, his gaze intent and honest. “Even when I’m sick, every week. I always make it. It’s the only time I get to talk to him, and it’s…. It’s important. I don’t want to miss it.”

Kokichi glances away, sipping at his straw. He hasn’t thought about it like that before, but it’s true. Saihara has been there, every week, for the past… almost a year. Ten-minute conversations every weekend, snippets of banter and bargaining and entertainment, and many more minutes of running, chasing one another all around the city. What does that add up to, Kokichi wonders, all that obsessive chasing, masked conversations? He’s probably spent more time with Saihara than he has with most of his foster parents.  
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?” He says, trying to ignore how his stomach bubbles, how he thinks back to Miu and Rantaro and Kiibo, back to Clubs and Hearts, to King and Queen and their birthday. “Look, he probably won’t notice. And if he does, just tell him you missed him or something. He might be flattered! You might get him to lower his guard.”

Saihara laughs, some of the tension lifting from his face. “I think the only way I can lower his guard is by surprising him,” he mumbles. 

“Well, if you really have made it every week -which is crazy, by the way- then this’ll probably get him pretty good.”

“I guess.” Saihara shifts, finally lowering his hand, looking sheepish. “It’s just- I mean-” he mumbles something incoherent.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t…. I don’t exactly like parties, anyway.” He looks embarrassed just admitting it.

Kokichi smirks, setting his drink down. “Whaaaat? Are you telling me Saihara-chan doesn’t like parties? Does it not fit your emo aesthetic?”

“It doesn’t fit my ‘socially anxious loner’ aesthetic,” Saihara argues back, his cheeks turning a familiar shade of pink. 

“Aw, come on. Parties are just immersion therapy for social anxiety!”

“The last time I went to a party, I was so scared I went home and cried for an hour,” Saihara moans, flopping against the fridge, sinking to the ground until he’s puddled on the floor, looking miserable. He looks like an overdramatic cat, and Kokichi can’t help but snort.

“Pfffffff. Come on, detective. Big, brave detective. It’s basically your first weekend off in a year, right?”

“Ten months,” Saihara says from the floor.

Kokichi walks over and kicks him, just gently. “C’mon, dude. Let me live vicariously through you. I’m not allowed to parties anymore.”

Saihara looks up, a gangly man sprawled on his kitchen floor. The sight shouldn’t make Kokichi’s stomach flip. “Why not?”

“I killed six men after blacking out,” Kokichi says, dead serious. Saihara just smiles, though, his lips turning upwards and _ugh._ “Okay, fine, I just haven’t been invited to a “proper” party in a while. I mean, I get drunk and my friends play music sometimes? But we don’t really go clubbing, or whatever.”

Saihara snorts, ungracefully. He rolls on his back and gives a heavy, world-weary sigh, then bursts into giggles when Kokichi pokes at his stomach with one fluffy-socked foot. “Don’t, don’t-” He scrambles upright while Kokichi carefully files Saihara is ticklish away for potential blackmail. “Okay, if I go will you come with me?

“Huh?”

“Will you come?” Saihara was clearly making an effort to be brave, because after a few seconds of eye contact, he looks away and coughs, flushing. 

Kokichi sets his panta down, leaning against the counter. “I won’t know anyone there.”

“You’ll know me.”

Kokichi screws up his face. “Are you allowed to bring a plus one?”

“Oh, Kaito will be delighted,” Saihara says, his face going dark, just for a moment, before he looks up again. “Please, Ouma? If you’re there, I’ll have someone to talk to, and I won’t need to rely on Kaede so much, and Kaito won’t make me go and speak to a billion girls I’m going to embarrass myself in front of-”

“Okay,” Kokichi agrees before he can think better of it. He hears _Kaede_ , and he remembers the sugar-sweet girl who texted him about the flat (which he now knows was because Saihara was too anxious to do it himself), and his stomach twists. And then he hears _girls,_ and it’s stupid, and he doesn’t care, but- “but I swear to god, Saihara, if you abandon me to go get laid-”

Saihara’s spluttering is enough to cheer him up again.

\--

The next day, Kokichi catches a train with Saihara, dressed up in his Saturday best. He’d had to physically wrangle Saihara out of his hat, and had coaxed him into significantly more eyeliner than usual, but in the end, they make quite a handsome pair- Saihara, dressed up in his dark coat, his silk shirt (first button undone), his hair slicked back, his eyes low and smokey. And Kokichi, skinny jeans and platform boots, too much eyeshadow and his neon-pink jacket. (Saihara had smiled when he saw it, mumbled something about being reminded of their first meeting.)

They arrive at the party, which is being held at Momota Kaito’s house, and instantly Kokichi is regretting the decision to come.

Momota Kaito is already drunk, and greets them both with hugs, and instantly begins calling Kokichi by his first name, which seems to make Saihara both frustrated and embarrassed. Despite that, the two obviously care for each other, and Kokichi has to stand awkwardly to the side while they bro it out and talk about training and how much Momota missed Saihara since the last time he saw him (two days ago. Two days.) Halfway through the conversation a girl comes up and stands just to Momota’s left side, and she spends the whole time glaring at Kokichi until Saihara is released from another hug and is able to introduce them.  
Next, he has to meet Akamatsu herself, who is far too wink-wink-nudge-nudge cheerful for his liking, and then he has to meet Akamatsu’s best friends (not including Saihara, who is her bff)- make that best friends/maybe girlfriends. She flirts with every single one of them as she drags Saihara over to meet her new super cool friend, she’s a cosplayer, Shuichi, how sexy is that!   
(Kokichi makes a mental note that Akamatsu and Miu must _never_ meet.)

Then he meets Rantaro. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Kokichi says/shouts over the music.

Rantaro smiles, nursing some bright green liquid in a wineglass. “Kaede invited me. Did you come with Saihara?”

“Yeah,” Kokichi replies, glancing over his shoulder to where Saihara and Akamatsu are animatedly talking about, like, the concept of friendship or something. 

“Akamatsu is really inspiring, don’t you think? She’s brilliant at bringing people together. She’s just brilliant in general, really.”

By the end of that conversation, Kokichi has added Rantaro to the list of Akamatsu’s best friends/maybe girlfriends. He is also ready to go home. 

Fortunately, Saihara is on the same page, and fucking jumpscares him by the punch bowl, desperately asking if they can go out for a smoke break. 

Outside, the air is sticky and warm but quieter, and Saihara seems to sink back into his bones slowly, ash drifting down his fingers, his other hand fixed tight to the balcony rail. 

Kokichi stands next to him and watches the ash fall. 

“I really don’t like eye contact,” Saihara whispers. “I- I’m better at it than I used to be. Kaede really helped with that. So did- so did all my friends. I owe them a lot, I just…”

“Saihara,” Kokichi says, slowly. “How- how do you do your detective work without getting anxious?” He’s a little drunk, both on punch and on all the lies he’s told over the evening, the excitement of darting from conversation to conversation.

Saihara is silent, breathing smoke over the skyline. He takes another long drag, then drops the cigarette, grinding it under his boot. When he breathes out again, his hand that was gripping the rail releases, then fastens again. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “The… the anxiety, I guess- it came later. I’ve never been good with people. But I’ve been good at. Focusing, I guess. Focusing when I need to. As I developed my observational skills, I got better at it. And then…” He stares into the distance. “I was working as a detective, and I was.” A laugh. “I was too young. No one should have let me have the kind of- of responsibility, I had. I didn’t realize that I was changing real lives until it was too late.” 

Kokichi says nothing. He doesn’t ask for the story, because it doesn’t feel like it’s time yet. He just reaches out, slowly, and places his hand over Saihara’s, tight round the railing.

Saihara’s fingers twitch, tense, then turn over. He rests his hand, palm up, and threads their fingers together. Kokichi does the same, silent, and then Saihara is squeezing his hand tight. 

“The anxiety came after that, I guess,” he says quietly. “I got worse with people. Every time I talk to someone, I think about the mistakes I’ve made before. Eye contact was never easy, but after that, it got so much worse. I- I’m so scared of disappointing people, Ouma, of hurting them. Every time I speak, I’m terrified that I’m going to fuck up. That my words are going to ruin another life.” He laughs again, bitter, and Kokichi can recognize the thick, syrupy quality to his voice, the shine in his eyes. “It’s so easy to do, you know? You just need the wrong words at the wrong time. And I don’t want to see it in their eyes, Ouma. I don’t want to see them…. S-so, I’m cowardly. I wait.”

Kokichi squeezes his hand back, his own throat feeling tight. “You’re… that’s a nobler reason than I thought it would be,” he replies, voice too low, barely there. 

Saihara laughs again, and sniffs, and reaches up with his other hand to wipe his eyes. “Thank you, Ouma, but there’s nothing noble about me. I…” He shakes his head. “It’s why I took so many cold cases. Recovering stolen items, infidelity…. I made okay money with those. Needed it for the flat. But they fucking _suck._ ” 

“I can imagine.” Kokichi looks over at Saihara, still staring out at the skyline, and he nudges his shoulder. “Lost all your faith in the concept of marriage, yet?”

“Not yet,” Saihara murmurs, shaking his head. “I… this last case I’m working, you know I hate my boss, and I’m not good in a team, and I hate having to explain myself to so many people. But chasing the thief… I really feel. I don’t know. They’re so- so controlled, so ahead of everything. I wasn’t scared to talk to him, because I didn’t think I could hurt him, even if I tried.” He goes silent, and Kokichi tries to think of something to say- but before he can, Saihara’s speaking again. “I wanted to catch him. I still do, I want to catch him, properly, stop him in a real heist. And then I want to talk to him. Because I think…. It’s funny,” he finally looks away, looks over at Kokichi, and he’s smiling again, and his hand is warm and soft. “I’ve been chasing him so long, I think I know him in some way. And now I don’t think he’s as untouchable as I assumed. I think he’s just as human as us.”

“Then, aren’t you afraid you’ll hurt him?” Kokichi’s voice comes out too wrong, like it belongs to someone else. Saihara squeezes his hand.

“I won’t. I won’t hurt him.”

They stay like that, longer than a smoke break, holding hands and looking out at the city, and at some point Kokichi inches closer and leans his head on Saihara’s shoulder. He thinks about life, and words, and lies, and Saihara’s eyes, and his friends, and DICE and coffee stores and cozy apartments and bad comedy and modern art and blue and purple flowers and working a job you hate and all the minutes they’ve spent talking, masked and unmasked and

the night is not so lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hi i dont rlly know how very fancy art auctions work bc im not rich but. I love yayoi kusama and i think both shuichi and kokichi would too. If ur ever in japan i INSIST you check out her museum bc it’s amazing.)
> 
> shoutout to my friend for giving me some sick gay crime ideas despite having no clue what I’m writing about. ily.


	4. and now;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thief turns, sharply, twirling on his toe, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t slip and fall. “Mister detective!” He calls, his voice grand and loud, and he’s sure they can hear it below, listen to his last stand, hear every tremble and crack in it. “What a pleasure!”
> 
> The detective - Shuichi, he sways on the roof, buffeted by wind, but he remains firm, standing up straight. “My thief,” he echoes in greeting, holding out his hand. His eyes look golden here, blazing like the sun, his jaw set like the Fool has never seen. “Come down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY THIS IS SEVERAL HOURS LATE!! ITS. A LOT. SHOULD I HAVE BROKEN UP THE CHAPTERS DIFFERENTLY? YES. DID I WORK ON THIS INSTEAD OF SLEEPING? ALSO YES. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
> 
> anyway welcome to the climax of the story! i hope the pacing is okay. i hope the timeline makes sense. i hope this is a satisfying climax/finale of sorts. next chapter will be the conclusion! ah im very sad just thinking about ending this fic ;w; i still have another day with it... my baby...... and then i'll be writing more saiouma immediately lmao. i've already started a few other projects.  
> THANK YOU FOR READING THIS ISNT EVEN THE LAST CHAPTER AND IM EMOTIONAL. ITS AN EMOTIONAL CHAPTER. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE
> 
> ((some tw in this! there is a very brief mention of physical child abuse in the scene with mage and jack, and there is a mention of being sick in the injury scene with saihara, and kokichi's mental state is kind of rough here!! be safe please!))

A few days later, Shuichi doesn’t have work and Kokichi doesn’t have anything to scope, his schedule open and breezy, so they have brunch.

They don’t go out, or anything. They make it at home, Kokichi blasting pop and Shuichi watching the stove. Kokichi's just flailing his arms everywhere, but it makes Shuichi laugh, still in their pajamas even at 11.30 in the day. Shuichi’s in cotton, striped and blue and Kokichi tells him he looks like his dad and then says “just kidding, I don’t know what my dad looks like” and Shuichi laughed until he had to stumble against the fridge and clutch his stomach. He’s got bed hair, long flicks of blue-black curling upward no matter how many times Kokichi tries to pat them down. Kokichi’s in boxers and a crop top because it’s _hot,_ his bruises and scars faded enough that he doesn’t worry about Shuichi spotting them. But it’s hard to worry anyway, this morning. Hard to worry when they both have nothing to do, when the music playing is light and the air is warm, and Shuichi’s frying bacon in a wok because he laughed and decided he didn’t want to look too hard through their shelves.

“Love is a high-speed chase,” Kokichi sings, arms above his head as he turns in a slow circle. He opens his eyes, grins over at Shuichi, who is trying his best not to laugh. “Racing down the street!”

“You look like you’re dancing for your life,” Shuichi gasps, then dissolves into snickers as Kokichi throws it back in a truly impressive way. “To _Owl City._ ”

“Mind the bacon, servant,” Kokichi tells him, bouncing about the kitchen. “And don’t judge, my man is prolific. Truly the Stephen King of music.”

“You hate Stephen King,” Shuichi says, fond and sweet, but he turns back to check the frying food, flipping it over and slicing off another slab of butter to drop in the pan. “Hold on, I’m going to add the vegetables now.”

Kokichi makes an exaggerated ‘ew’ sound at the thought of vegetables, but he bounces on over to hang by Shuichi’s shoulder, watching him drop the sliced tomatoes and leeks into the pan.

He’s not sure when Saihara became Shuichi, but it had happened. At the party, after they’d finished staring at the city, they’d gone back in and gotten stupidly, carelessly drunk, and _danced_ , so drunk that they woke up the next morning and had to sneak out and back home, snickering as they stepped over a still-sleeping Momota. And then they’d spent the day together, hungover and drinking tea, and Kokichi had put his foot down and refused to let Saihara touch his work, and at some point during that argument, he’d said “oh my god, they’ll survive without your input for a day, Shuichi,” and it had felt so right in his mouth that he didn’t stop.

(It had also won him the argument. As soon as Shuichi heard his name, his mouth fell open and his cheeks went red, and he’d let Kokichi pull away the laptop with little fight.)

Kokichi’s not about to pretend he doesn’t care about Shuichi, watching his brow furrow, focusing just as intently on the frying tomatoes as he does on his actual work. They’re firmly in the category of friends now, and that’s fine. It is, just like how he’s friends with Rantaro and Miu and Kiibo, only he doesn’t make any of them lunch or bring them stolen knick-knacks or smooth stones they might like. 

The song changes, switching to a slightly melancholy Vocaloid track (because this is Kokichi’s playlist), and Shuichi’s eyes lighten in recognition, and he murmurs along with the opening lyrics. 

“This is an odd change in mood,” he says, looking up from the pan and smiling over at Kokichi as the melody fully kicks in. 

Kokichi sways with the music, his socks sticking to the floor, his skin flushed with summer. He shrugs. “I don’t really have a cohesive theme for this playlist. It’s kind of 'songs that are just a bop,' you know?”

“A bop,” Shuichi echoes, his eyes crescent moons, smiling and white. 

“You know, that you just-” Kokichi stops swaying, holds up a hand, waits for the chorus to kick in, and then he nods his head with it, tapping his feet, swaying again. “You just bop.”

Shuichi laughs, turns away from the stove, and mimics Kokichi’s movements, bopping with the sound. He’s adorably self-conscious about it, like he’s got some mental barrier up that prevents him from moving too far or fast. 

“Come on, dork.” Kokichi reaches over, yanks his hands away from the pot, and drags him around their kitchen, liquid in the hot air. His mind flicks back to when they waltzed together, what feels like a lifetime ago, two different people entirely. The thought doesn’t sit right with him, makes him restless and guilty, so he focuses on Shuichi’s face, the way Shuichi’s eyes don’t move from his, don’t look away.

He sings, loud and out-of-tune, just to make Shuichi laugh, relax a little, melt in the sun with him. Shuichi joins in after a moment, stiff and awkward but singing, and his voice isn’t bad at all. Kokichi keeps their hands tight together, and they bounce around, a thousand times less graceful than their waltz and a thousand times as fun, even without the threat of danger creeping at the base of his mind. Shuichi is laughing between words, and the song is a little slow and kind of bittersweet, but that doesn’t matter when they’re swaying with it, swinging their hands between them, circling the kitchen like old friends. 

“You and me, you and me, you and- oh _fuck_ , the food!” All of a sudden Shuichi yelps, drops Kokichi’s hands and tears away, genuine panic on his face as he rushes over to the wok and lowers the heat. Hastily, he's flipping over the bacon, the vegetables, the eggs, checking that nothing has burned. 

Kokichi cackles, leaning back against their counter and watching as Saihara fusses around, clutching his sides as he laughs. “Good god, I thought you’d been shot or something,” he snickers, laughs even harder at the glare Shuichi sends over to him. 

And they’re standing there in the kitchen, as Shuichi scoops up their mess of a breakfast and places it on the waiting (now cold) pancakes, and he passes over syrup and they go and sit down from each other at the counter, music still playing, ribbing each other with tiny jokes. It’s so hot that Shuichi peels off his shirt, and then he gets flustered the moment Kokichi opens his mouth, stammers as he makes terrible, dirty jokes that are so bad they’d make Miu fluster. Just when Shuichi’s growing so embarrassed that he can’t get any words past their first syllables, Kokichi sits up and pulls off his own shirt, sticky with sweat. They sit there, almost-matching scars, most gained together over a year of chases and Kokichi knows and knows and is burdened by that knowledge. His skin burns in the sun, and he wonders if Shuichi recognizes the faint scars on his chest, the bruising around his ribs. 

Shuichi is still blushing, still looking away, but he relaxes a little. “I guess this makes us both whores, then?” He asks, the joke half-formed in his mouth, and he seems almost startled when Kokichi laughs again.

Shuichi smiles at him, open and honest and kind. Kokichi smiles back, and he is almost naked and at home and there is not a single lie on his face when he looks at Shuichi.   
And still, here, there are masks between them. Kokichi’s not sure where his identity stops and the thief of cards’ begins. He’s barely a person, more a collection of stories, about him, to him, from him. Polaroids and mugshots and train tickets and doodles and pressed flowers all pinned to a pinboard, Shuichi’s red string linking between all of them, trying to make some kind of picture out of all those tiny connections.  
Kokichi’s not sure if there’s a picture to find. He’s scared that Shuichi will look, only to find that there’s nothing more of him. There’s no great truth to all those lies, no real mystery to unravel. Sometimes things are just what they seem to be. 

“Shuichi,” he says after a moment, the hot air starting to stick to him. “Why are you chasing the Thief of Cards?”

Shuichi blinks at the question. For a moment, he just stares at Kokichi, the smile dying from his face. Kokichi wants to call it back, wants to change the subject. Laugh it off, make a joke. Shuichi doesn’t give him a chance, though, because he pulls away first, his eyes slipping down, like he can’t look at Kokichi anymore. “I had been following the case for a while,” he murmurs. “I… admired him, honestly. He seemed so confident and self-assured, and- it really felt like he was having fun with it. Criminals, mostly- they aren’t too clever.” He laughs, almost self-conscious. “I mean, the type detectives deal with. The idea that serial killers are all geniuses is a complete myth. Generally, it’s not so much about following a mystery as it is confirming a hunch, or looking at locations and psychological profiles. Theft is usually a very simple crime. You don’t- you don’t really get gentleman thieves, today. Major theft is such a risky crime that it’s mostly committed by very desperate people.”

Major theft is not that hard, Kokichi thinks. You just need to plan ahead, make all your preparations in tiny increments, learn how to keep out of the public’s line of sight. “So you liked that he was different?”

“I liked that he was having fun with it!” Shuichi laughs, softly, gesturing with a fork. He reaches over for the syrup and pours it over his food, even though he hates sweets. “I- when I started hearing about him, I couldn’t help but admire that. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t- he was clearly in it for the thrill, but he was smart about it. I had… I’d never seen anything like that before. I went and read a lot of cases and, really, it’s- this thief is incredible. He really is, he’s crazy but he’s smart, and he’s so dramatic.” Shuichi pauses to eat a mouthful of bacon, and Kokichi watches, entranced. “I couldn’t help but follow the case, you know? People only saw glimpses of him, his uniform all around the city, and I figured he must have had assistance, but it only added to the mystery, that people saw them everywhere. And his calling card… it was so self-aware, mocking. And that’s not even getting into what he was stealing.” Shuichi points the fork at Kokichi now, as if he’s ready for an argument. “He never steals from individual people, always corporations or companies- even when he strikes galleries for art, he only takes controversial pieces. It’s like….”

“He’s making a political statement?” Kokichi asks, because that’s what most people who take note of what he steals think. But Shuichi shakes his head.

“I think, if he were, he would be more…. Artistic about it, I guess? He’d make a bigger deal of it. Probably leave notes or something, he seems like that kind of thief.” Shuichi stares at his plate for a moment, then looks up, a little tense. “I think he’s just trying to steal without hurting anyone.” 

Kokichi blinks. “You- what?”

Shuichi laughs, lowering his shoulders. “I know, I know. My coworkers looked at me like I was crazy when I said that. But I really get that impression, you know- he really seems like he’s got a code.”

“But-” Kokichi struggles for argument. It’s not... untrue, but Shuichi doesn’t have to make it sound so sappy. “What about what he’s done recently? He took that painting, right? And that jewelry?”

“The painting was an original print- there were already copies made of it. He was just taking the most expensive one, if you think about it like that. And the jewelry was made by a chain that’s notorious for hoarding diamonds to drive the price up.” Shuichi’s brow furrows, his hand coming to cover his mouth, food forgotten. “Although those were definitely unusual for him. He’s been…. Restless, lately, I guess. Like he’s trying to-”

“Why did they invite you onto the case?” Kokichi interrupts. He won’t have Shuichi theorize about him, not here in their yellow, sun-covered kitchen. 

Shuichi blinks, then shakes his head, as if shaking the thoughts away. “I run a website,” he explains. “It’s where I advertised my services, where I will when I’m done with this. Um, I posted some of my theories. They weren’t anything special, but I talked about the involvement of a group, and I got called into the station because it turned out to really align with some of their theories. And I- I kinda gelled with their investigation, and I already had some leads I wanted to follow, so they put me on.” He chuckles, turning his fork over on the plate, twirling it aimlessly. “They didn’t pay me at first, they just said they’d give me a call if there were any sightings. And I got lucky.” He looks up from his plate, smiles at Kokichi, abashed and shy. “The first night they called me, I was already at the location. I shoved my way through employee-only areas, past the security, and I got up into a balcony just as he was about to leave.”   
Shuichi’s gaze goes distant, clouded in memory, emotions Kokichi can’t even begin to decipher crossing over his face. “And he spoke to me.”

(Kokichi remembers. How could he forget?)

-

It had been summer then, too, the end of it when the day had been burning hot but the evening was cool, balmy. Flowers were falling, fruit coming out of season, but the sun was still wrapped around the city.   
The crime took place at an old hall, rented out for parties. There was some kind of fundraiser being held for a local for-profit university, but the event was more of a status symbol than anything else. Schmoozing and lobbying and displaying your success. It was so much of a big deal that they’d hauled out one of the school’s old silk tapestries, and Kokichi had taken one look at the magazine article and thought _I have to have that._

Stealing it was a breeze- they’d got the group all akimbo when Spades had shut off the power, and then Hearts and Clubs had dumped buckets of petals through the skylight like The Roses of Heliogabalus (though they were camellia petals, not roses, which were easy to grow and to steal and looked pretty much identical). The lights had flicked back on as Kokichi was halfway up the stairs and down the staff hallway. He’d grinned to himself, thinking of the guests blinking foolishly in the new light, finding themselves covered in flowers, the great silk display now empty, only a card left behind.   
He had darted sideways, through the kitchens and between the flustered staff, and then rounded back up to the dining hall upstairs, which was empty after the earlier meal had finished there. Kokichi burst out onto the balcony and pulled out his phone, quickly sending a message to Ace to get the rope ready.  
He received no response, and wasn’t too worried, because the police station was a mile away and the security guards were currently distracted by a group of stray dogs. At least, he wasn’t worried, until he heard footsteps approaching and turned from the balcony, watching as a man ran through the dining hall. 

Kokichi, unsure what to do, backed up to the other end of the balcony as the man sprinted onto it, panting slightly. He was willowy, young, almost a bit scrawny looking, and he seemed incredibly out of his depth as he stared over at Kokichi.  
That made two of them. In his last few months of heists, no one had ever gotten this close before.

The man seemed to steel himself, though, and he straightened, extending a hand. “Thief of Cards,” he whispered. “I’ve caught you.”

“Caught me?” The laugh sprung easily into Kokichi’s throat. He leaned back against the balcony railing, ultra-casual, while his heart was screaming. Where the fuck was Ace? “I don’t see your cuffs around my wrist.” He’d leaned sideways, hands tucked behind his back, the picture of a teasing schoolboy. “I don’t see your cuffs at all, actually.”

“I’m- I don’t have any on me,” the man said, and for a moment, in the moonlight, he had looked embarrassed. “But I’ve caught up to you.”

“How did you figure out where I’d be?” Kokichi asked, playing for time.

The man’s throat bobbed when he swallowed. He stepped forward, and his voice was steadier now, confident. “As soon as the lights went out, I knew it was you. You always strike on a weekend, and this seemed like the sort of event you would target.” He tilted his head to the side, almost smiling, and Kokichi had never been more glad for the mask to keep him hidden. “And you usually aim to get height before you make an escape. I knew you’d be on the third floor. It was just luck I got the right balcony.”

“You should give yourself more credit,” Kokichi had scolded him, and to his surprise, the stranger had chuckled, stepping forward one foot at a time. Kokichi drew himself up, and stepped forward, too. The air was balmy, the breeze sweet. “What’s your name, detective?”

“Ah- Saihara Shuichi.” He’d seemed surprised, but not flustered, still staring down at Kokichi’s mask, tense but prepared. 

“Sai-ha-ra.” Kokichi tasted it on his tongue, took him in from behind his disguise. Saihara wasn’t tall, was thin, still breathing heavily. He wore a hat tucked low on his forehead, and his blue tie was knotted tight enough to throttle him. “Do you often go telling criminals your full name, Saihara Shuichi?” Kokichi stepped up on his tiptoes, tapped the man’s chest. “Seems inadvisable to me.”

Saihara reached down, caught his hand before Kokichi could pull it back. “Are you going to send your group after me?”

“Huh?” Kokichi had frozen up, just minutely. Up until that point, no one had ever made mention of his gang. He thought he’d done a good job at keeping DICE hidden- this was his game, they weren’t meant to be in danger. He recovered quickly, though. He had always been a brilliant liar. “My beloved detective, why would I do something like that?”

Saihara had smiled, still holding him tight. “I don’t think you would,” he said, more confident than anything else he’d said so far. 

Kokichi furrowed his brow. “If you don’t let go of me, I think I’ll have you killed.”

“You won’t.” Frustratingly smooth.

Kokichi didn’t pull away, kept calm and still, like there was a snake coiled around his wrist. “Well, then. I suppose you’ve caught me.”

Saihara’s hold tightened. He wet his lips, just for a moment, and shifted back, his dark coat swinging around him. It was terribly cliche. “Thief of Cards.”

“That’s my name, detective. Don’t wear it out.”

“What’s your plan with the silk?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” Kokichi had turned to look over the balcony, shifting his weight, feigning boredom. “I’m caught, aren’t I?”

Saihara had blinked, then smiled. “I suppose you-”

He didn’t get to finish, because Kokichi, small and slim and used to being physically intimidated, slipped from his grasp and aimed a dirty kick to his ankles. Saihara had let go in shock, groaning in pain, and he’d darted back, clambering onto the balcony railing. As he did, a rope dropped down, and when he looked up he could see Ace staring down, clearly panicking. When he leaped onto the rope, they hauled him up so fast he was sure they had strained something.

“Evening, detective!” Kokichi had called, giving him a salute. “Until we meet again, I’m sure!”

Saihara scrabbled to his feet, lunging after the rope, but he was one step too slow. “I’ll find you!” He’d called, and his eyes were burning, but not with anger. They looked at each other in that moment, Kokichi ascending and the detective reaching after him, and Saihara had grinned.

“You’ll never catch me,” Kokichi called, and he meant it.

(It wasn’t the last time Kokichi saw detective Saihara. And, in the following months, meeting every weekend, teasing, almost catching up but not quite, it was not the last time he was surprised by detective Saihara. But no matter how many times he was, it didn’t matter- he was always one step ahead.)

-

Present-day Kokichi stares down at his plate. He eats a piece of pancake, because Shuichi will be upset if he doesn’t. They are quiet. Shuichi keeps staring into the distance. It is quiet, it is hot, it is buzzing in his ears until he loses his temper, until he almost throws his fork down. 

(Kokichi can’t be happy for too long. He can’t be smiling and at home and so full of joy he could burst, because he does. He bursts, and he implodes, and he sends glitter around him as he does. Kokichi can’t let sleeping dogs lie. Can’t ignore a sore tooth. He pokes at it, prods and prods until the ache becomes familiar, until it runs through him, until there’s nothing there to make him feel that happy. Happy things don’t last. It’s good to know that. It’s good to keep running, chasing something other than happiness. Any other feeling will do.)

“What?” Kokichi asks, almost snaps. His voice is super even. His face is super neutral. Shuichi still jumps. “What did he say that made you keep chasing him?” What made you go out every weekend, rain or shine, push yourself and hurt yourself until you got too close? (He’s frightened it’s the same thing that makes him go out and steal.)

And he’s right to be frightened, because Shuichi turns sideways, his profile all gold in the sun, sweat beading on his collarbones. He’s not so thin now, actual muscle built from running after Kokichi so long. (And probably from Momota’s workouts, too, whatever.) But he’s still willowy, his jaw slender, his eyelashes dark on his cheeks, his arms thin when they’re out of his classic coat. His fingers are long, elegant, and Kokichi stares at them and wonders if they’ll still feel cold in all this sun. 

He’s right, that Shuichi and he are mirrors of each other, white uniforms and black coats, the same, sick desire to chase a glory you’ll never find, because Shuichi says, “he said I wouldn’t catch him.”  
Silence, again, in the warm kitchen. Shuichi rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I’d do if I did, to be honest.”

“Then why keep trying?” Kokichi asks, and he’s asking himself, too. “What do you think you’re going to find?”

Shuichi shrugs, moon-colored eyes flicking up. “I just think… I just feel like... “ He glances sideways, those dark eyelashes flicking down, so pretty and so human, like living art. “If I could talk to him once,” he murmurs. “Without the mask. I think there’s no other way for this to conclude in a satisfying way.”

Kokichi is silent. It’s painfully, sweetly ironic. Rain on your wedding day. He can’t agree. He doesn’t disagree. There’s no answer here.

Shuichi looks back to him. They hold the eye contact, even as Shuichi’s pupils move, just barely, clearly still thinking. Kokichi doesn’t have the energy to ask. The detective takes a breath after a moment, and his eyes soften, his thoughts melting out of focus. 

Shuichi smiles, shrugging his shoulder in a small gesture. “But it’s fun in the meantime, right?”

_Right._

\--

This one is a bit of a risk. This one took some coaxing. But Kokichi is very good at coaxing, and after a week of talking them into it and convincing them to check out the place, going along with all their additional backup plans, DICE has agreed to his latest heist.  
The reason it took so much convincing is that, when they swing up to the hotel, it is full of people.   
Some award show is being held there, full of tourists and extremely fashionable. From the roof of the restaurant next door, they can see women stepping out of cars in full-on ball gowns, men in tight black suits. It’s like prom, only those gorgeous limousines aren’t for hire. People are popping champagne bottles on the sidewalk, ushering each other inside, all desperate to act like they know more than the others. 

The other reason it took some convincing is that it is surrounded by security. 

Inspired by recent heists, Kokichi had dropped off a cute little riddle about where he was going to hit next. It was super easy to solve, he bets Shuichi knew the answer as soon as he opened it. And Shuichi was probably legally required to snitch or whatever, which is fine because that’s what Kokichi wanted. The hotel is swarming with security guards and on-duty officers, and people antsy for a hit, vampires feeding off the thrill of his actions, of the stories they’ll get to tell about him. 

Kokichi drains his wineglass, tosses it and watches it shatter on the ground. He stands up, turning around, his cloak (a new addition, thanks to Hearts) swishing behind him as he turns to face his goons. “Right, lovely DICE.” He reaches up, gives them a sharp grin before he pulls his mask over his face, adjusts it at the back, around his ponytail. He really needs a haircut, soon. “Ready to rumble?”

Spades is already in the building itself, holed up in a maintenance room and hiding by the wires, ready to cause some drama. Diamonds stands as soon as he speaks, ready to go and get the van on standby, ready to book it out of here. Her expression is tight, determined and a little concerned, so he skips over and flicks her on the chin. “You look like you’re attending a funeral,” he jokes, ignores the way their worry makes him worry. 

Diamonds shifts uncomfortably. “I just- you sure you’ll be alright on your own?”

She’s referring to the part where Spades scarpers out, and King and Queen dump confetti and then book it into the department store next door, and Ace lowers a rope and then leaves before Kokichi follows. The part where Kokichi makes sure none of them are in danger of getting caught. 

He nods, makes sure his voice is light as he looks at his gang. “Come on, guys, we’ve planned for everything. And I’ll be in radio contact with you all night, alright?” He pats the phone at his waist. They still look unconvinced, so he tucks his arms behind his back and rocks on his feet, enjoying how his cape rocks with him. “Look, it’ll be easier for me if I don’t have to keep track of you all in a crowd, okay? That said, if any of you get in trouble- anything at all- make sure you call immediately, alright?” He picks up the phone now, speaking into it. “That goes for you too, Spades.”

“Gotcha, boss.” Spades’ voice floats through, a little tinny. 

“So.” Kokichi lifts his mask to show them all his grin. “We ready?”

DICE glances amongst itself, nods, and as one, pulls on its mask. 

They move in beats. First, Spades knocks out the security cameras, giving them fifteen minutes to set up. Then go Diamonds and Ace, going to their stations down the street and on the roof. Then King and Queen, to establish lookout positions. Each duo calls in when they’ve reached their spots, verifies their safety, and then Kokichi sends out the others- Hearts and Clubs, next, to pull Ace’s ropeway into phase two. Then Mage and Jack, placing smoke bombs at mapped out points around the hotel’s hallways. Then Kokichi, casually walking to the roof next door, then to the one next to that, and then pulling himself along the ropeway, hand by hand, climbing along it like a monkey. He’s so high above the streets- any one of the civilians below could look up and see him at any moment. If someone slashed the ropes, he’d be done for. He can see the guards and police moving a little more frantically, now, and he assumes they’ve just been keyed into the fact their live security footage has been cut. 

“You all out?” Kokichi checks, as he drops onto the roof. He receives the affirmative from eight members, who are on the way to Diamonds’ van with a few thefted knick-knacks of their own. Kokichi chuckles, fondly thinking back to when all they pulled were shoplifting stunts, and hooks up his makeshift zipline ahead of time (basically just several coat hangers twisted together. It should hold, probably.) “Alright, clowns, I’m going to mute you all now, but I’ll yell if anything goes wrong, alright? Just hang tight and listen to your leader work his magic. Spades, if you need anything, send me a text, okay? I’ve got it on vibrate.”  
He receives a series of affirmations before he mutes the call, then opens up a skylight and drops inside. The fall isn’t too bad, only a few feet into the attic, but it hurts. Kokichi stumbles to his feet, brushing himself down just to get the ground-shock out of his system. He takes a minute to get his bearings, shuffling around the dark storage of the attic, then he heads for the stairs. 

“Alright, Spades,” the thief whispers. “Let’s get those lights down low.”

It’s a fun callback to his first- well, not his first heist, but the first heist he met Shuichi at. A dozen officers circle this building, and there’s only one he cares about meeting. Spades texts an affirmative, and only seconds later, darkness spreads through the building, the lights dimming slowly as their power shuts down. “Now get out of here, Spades, get out,” Kokichi hisses, tucking his phone away and then skidding down the stairs, two at a time. 

It’s so easy to merge with the crowd in the dark, where everyone is frantically talking and pressing together, flashlights scanning about too rapidly to pay attention to what they see. Kokichi’s new dark cloak keeps his white suit hidden, helps him blend into the night, skip through the hallways. He doesn’t have much time, so he makes his way to the ground floor, then through the lobby, taking his time as he slips past the police waiting there. Some are being ordered to go search the higher floors by a man in a deep, dislikable voice, which might prove problematic for his escape. But right now, they're too easy to avoid, even with their heavy-duty lights, and he finds his way to the ballroom pretty easily.

That’s even more fun to slip through, everyone packed so tightly that he brushes against them, makes them squeak and hiss and pull back. Every movement in the dark is suspicious, questionable. Nobody knows how to move- except him, the thief who mapped this building and committed it to memory and knows right when he reaches the stage that the band just left. He can hear them whispering backstage, and he thinks back to his own band, his gang, and dancing with Shuichi, and he smiles as he lifts himself up, hands outstretched, feeling his way to the back. He brushes against a drumset, a microphone, maybe a keyboard, until he reaches a high table sitting at the back of the stage, decorated with waiting trophies. Kokichi feels along until his fingers strike gold- literally. He presses them into the nooks and crannies of the statue, feels the shape of a man’s face against his fingerprints.   
Kokichi picks up the statue, pure gold, shaped like a man reaching upward, and tucks it under his arm. He flicks his cape around it, enjoying how it swishes, and is about to make his escape when a light shines on him. 

The room gasps- some woman shrieks, which is probably not a genuine reaction but a play for attention, and detective Saihara steps onto the stage, lowering his flashlight. 

Kokichi gives a bow, and listens to his audience murmur. “My beloved detective.”

He can just make out the shape of a smile when he looks above the flashlight. “My phantom thief.” Shuichi looks sideways, to the empty table. “Care to return that?”

The thief wonders what the listening audience thinks, frozen in terror, of their banter. They probably think he’s disgusting, making fun of the detective, stealing their prizes. He cocks his head to the side. “Hm, I don’t think I will.” He knows that DICE is listening, too, in that muted call, waiting with bated breath to see how Kokichi slips away. (Because he always gets away.)

“If you linger too long, you won’t have a choice.” It sounds confident, assured, threatening- it probably makes the audience feel safe. But Shuichi’s eyes look like a warning... for him? 

Kokichi never listens to warnings. He swings the trophy over his shoulder, careless. “Let me guess. You used your intuition to figure that I’d be aiming here, right? And you waited.” Shuichi’s bowed head is answer in itself, so Kokichi laughs. “You really are getting good at reading me, aren’t you? You might even catch me, one of these days.”  
 _And what will you do then?_

Shuichi steps forward. “Hand over the trophy.” It really is impressive, how he’s holding himself together in front of all these people. He must take his work seriously, to avoid passing out from nerves. 

Kokichi hums, low and ominous in his thief voice. “And what will you give me in return?”

“A lightened sentence?” He says it like a question, steps forward again. Kokichi doesn’t move back. 

The lights in the room flicker, and then return to their full glory. People murmur, but no one looks away from the stage, staring at the phantom thief in all his splendor. Shuichi stares, too, blinking at the change in lights.

Kokichi turns and flees. He runs into the wings of the stage, into the storage room at the side, out of that and down a long hallway that leads to the staff elevators. Shuichi takes chase after him, and he laughs, looking over his shoulder just to mock the detective as they run. He slams open the door to the stairwell, and they circle up it in a dance, Kokichi above and Shuichi below, left and right and right in front of each other. But Shuichi has long legs and he is fast, so Kokichi has to revert to plan B, and slams open a door to the third floor instead of continuing upstairs. Shuichi continues to gain, even as he runs down the long hallway, so Kokichi curses and begins cutting through the lobby, breaking out to the dining room on this floor. 

He kicks through the french doors, skids into the room and gives a salute to the security guard standing there, before darting sideways and down the steps that lead to the trash disposal area outside. Shuichi keeps chasing, and Kokichi keeps laughing, as they wind their way back down the stairs. Kokichi jumps off when one of the bins gets close enough, rolling forward and onto the other next to it, then leaping to the fence. Shuichi jumps down, then freezes. “Thief-!”

Kokichi glances down just in time to see a rock strike his chest. He stumbles, almost falls, but catches his balance. Then another hits him, striking his hip, and it hurts, feels like it’s crushing him, and he can’t catch himself this time. 

As he falls back, he catches the eye of a satisfied-looking officer, hears Shuichi yell something, and he closes his eyes as he braces for impact.

The fence was high, and falling on your back winds you. The trophy slips from his hand, smashes into the ground, and he can hear it break. His chest still hurts, but it’s far overshadowed by the other pain, the sense of his bones shattering, his hip splintering under the hit.  
That wasn’t a rock that hit him, the second time. That was a brick.  
For a few moments, all Kokichi can do is lie there, distantly hearing people shout. He needs to get up, he knows. There will already be people coming around the back. He can’t let them find him like this.

He closes his eyes. Takes several deep breaths. Pushes himself up.   
The pain gets considerably more intense when he tries to lift his hips. He grits his teeth and staggers to his feet, leaves the trophy lying where it is. When he stands up fully, he blacks out for a moment, the pain gets so much. 

The thief starts limping. Distantly, as he does, he reaches up to touch the back of his head, and his hand comes away red. He keeps limping. He tries to speed up. He’s not sure if it works.  
Kokichi gets a few streets away before he realizes that he’s forgotten where he’s going. He reaches for his phone and finds the screen splintered. He swipes it open anyway, unmutes the call.

“Boss? Boss?”

“H-” Kokichi pauses to wet his lips. “Hey.”

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god-”

“Boss, where are you?”

“Is he okay?”

The thief looks up at a street sign, squinting. It looks all blurry. He gives up, and looks somewhere else instead. “By the library.”

“Why the fuck did you go there?”

Kokichi shrugs before he realizes they can’t see it.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m on my way. Hang tight, boss, don’t move.”

He doesn’t move. It feels like he just blinks and then people have their hands on him, and his first instinct is to fight them off, but then-

“Hey, hey, Fool- Kokichi, hey. It’s alright.”

The Fool blinks open bleary eyes to stare at Clubs, who’s lifting him up and holding him steady. She smiles at him, and then there’s Ace, too, lifting him on the other side. They carry him to the van, and carefully set him down in the back. He’s laying against several other people. He considers how this might look a lot like a kidnapping if anyone saw it.  
He laughs, and the sound rattles about in his head, hurts it. He groans.

“Hey, boss.” Mage’s voice is so soft. Kokichi looks over to see him kneeling on the floor of the van, inspecting the back of his head. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

 _Oh, they think I’m concussed,_ he realizes. He stares at the fingers. They’re wobbly and dark. “Five.”

“Okay, great. Can you tell me your name?”

“Oooooouma Kokichi.” He giggles. “You- you all call me Fool, ‘cause I’m dumb.”

“We call you boss, too, remember?”

“Course I remember. I’m….” Kokichi shuts his eyes when the world starts hurting them. “I’m in control.”

Mage laughs too, just softly. “You are.” He can feel him poking about at his head, pulling away then patting it down. “Do you remember what happened that made you hit your head?”

He frowns. That makes him open his eyes, stare up as Mage tries to dab at his head with cotton. “Some dumbass cop threw a…. A brick at me.” 

“At your head?” Kokichi looks in front of him, sees Hearts going practically white. 

He tries to shake his head. Oops, that hurts too much. “At m’hip. I fell off when it hit me.”

“Fell off what, boss?”

“Fence.” He shuts his eyes again, still frowning. “Dirty move.”

“Fuck, I’ll say.” That’s…. Jack’s voice. He has to think about it for a moment. 

Mage shuffles something next to him. His head hurts so much. He can’t stop laughing. “Did you black out at any point?” Mage’s voice is like velvet. It makes him sleepy.

“Yeahhh.” Kokichi feels him lift his head, and tries to lean forward, helpfully. “When I stood up. And when I hit the ground.”

“I see.” Mage murmurs something to someone else, too quiet to hear. Kokichi’s brain feels like it’s full of bees. “How bad does your head hurt, boss?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but he laughs. He’s still shaking. “Really, really bad.”

“Mhm.”

He’s not sure what happens next, but it seems like one moment he is answering Mage’s questions, and the next Ace has their arms around him and is heaving him out of the car.

“Fool?” Diamonds asks, just softly. “You good?”

“Noo,” he groans. 

She bites her lip. “Okay, well- Ace is gonna stick around at your flat today and look after you, alright?”

His flat. His flat. Kokichi opens his eyes. “Is Shuichi here?”

“No, not yet. But- you need to be in bed when he gets back, okay? And you can’t let him see your wounds, alright?” Diamonds sounds so worried, it’s funny. God, his head hurts. 

“Mm, sure.” Kokichi thinks about dancing with Shuichi in his kitchen. He thinks about Shuichi bandaging his fingers. He thinks it might be nice, if Shuichi looked after him like this.

Ace sighs and lifts him higher. “I’ll be in your bathroom,” they tell him. “If you need anything, call- _quietly._ ”

“Don’t worry,” Kokichi tells them. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

\--

He wakes up a few hours later, with Ace checking on him. It happens again, a few hours after that, and after that, too. The next day passes in a blur of sleeping and drinking water and taking painkillers, and when Shuichi knocks on his locked door, scriptedly informing him that he is sick.   
The next day, he feels like shit, but not drugged anymore, which is an improvement. Ace tells him to take care and disappears out the window, and Kokichi is left to his own devices, a list of instructions on his pillow and the promise that Ace will check in again that evening.

Obviously, the first thing he does is take a bath, because he’s not allowed a shower. Then he inspects himself in the mirror as he changes his bandages- not the ones on his head, because Ace did those before they left.   
He doesn’t look that bad... injury-wise, at least. They can definitely be hidden from Shuichi in loose clothes, and Ace must have put his hair up, because he doesn’t remember doing it, but the bandages on his head are covered by a tight but messy bun, a whole pack’s worth of bobby pins hidden in his dark hair. 

He does look sick, though, which works for his cover story when he stumbles out to the kitchen in sweats and a hoodie and almost has a heart attack when he spots Shuichi at the counter.

“Kokichi!” He, too, looks startled, pushing his laptop aside and standing up. “Are you alright? You’ve been sleeping all day…”

“Felt a bit fevery,” Kokichi mumbles, making his way to the kettle and filling it up. He turns it on, then slumps against the counter, running a hand through his hair.

Shuichi glances between him and the kettle, and frowns. “No, get to bed, dumbass, I’ll make it for you. Did you want tea?”

“It’s fine, I’m feeling better now.” Kokichi doesn’t know why he doesn’t want the help- some irrational part of him is angry that Shuichi was nearby when he got hurt, like that made him involved somehow. It’s bitter and stupid and he tries to tune it out. 

“Have you eaten?” Shuichi is already standing up, moving through the kitchen and opening the cupboards. “I could make some soup, if you-”

“No.” The very thought makes him feel nauseous. Kokichi can feel himself growing pale, wraps his arms around his torso. “I’m fine.”

Shuichi stares at him, looking nervous and concerned and like he can’t bear to ignore Kokichi and not do anything. Kokichi groans.

“Fine, you can make me the tea,” he mumbles, stomping over to their couch and slumping down in it. It’s not too far from the kitchenette, so he can see Shuichi in his peripheral view, fussing about with the leaves. Kokichi hunches his shoulders. His head really hurts a lot.

Again, time does that weird thing where he’s just staring at the television and then all of a sudden Shuichi is at his side, holding out a mug. “When was the last time you took painkillers?” He asks, his voice warm and comforting as the sun. Kokichi closes his eyes as he takes the mug. It’s warm but not too hot- Shuichi probably cooled it so he wouldn’t burn himself.

“Um, I took some tylenol a few hours ago…” 

“How many?”

Kokichi glares at the carpet like it’s its fault for making him do math. “Four, I guess?”

Shuichi nods and disappears again. Kokichi stares at the tea for a long time before taking a sip. It’s peppermint and vanilla. There’s just enough honey in it, just the way he likes it.

It makes his throat close up.

Shuichi reappears, holding out a pill. “Here, take this.”

Kokichi obeys, swallowing it dry and then chasing it down with a swig of tea. When he sets the mug down, he finds Shuichi wrapping him in a blanket. He looks up, almost accusingly.

“I thought we could watch a movie,” Shuichi explains. “Y-you didn’t look like you wanted to move, so…”

“Hmph.” Kokichi snuggles into the blanket. It smells like Shuichi’s room, cocoa and smoke and water. It probably came from his bed. “Fine.”

“O-okay.” 

He watches as Shuichi hangs up his coat, noting for the first time that he’d been wearing it despite being indoors, in summer. “Why did you have that on?”

Shuichi starts, then looks back at the coat like he hadn’t even realized. “Ah,” he says, half-laughing, crossing over to sit next to Kokichi, reaching for the remote. “I guess I need it to get in the right headspace.”

“That is so cliche. I’m embarrassed for you, really.” It comes out meaner than he intends it to. Shuichi doesn’t seem bothered, though, just nods as he flicks through available shows. 

“It is, a bit. Blame my uncle.” He looks over to Kokichi, smiling softly. “It was his. He was a detective, too. I just kind of… grew into it.”

“The job or the coat?”

“Both, I guess.”

Kokichi hmphs in agreement. Shuichi plays a movie.

At some point, he falls asleep, wakes to Shuichi shaking him and asking if he wants dinner. Kokichi eats a whole box of blueberries and two bananas, and then is violently sick. Shuichi rubs his back and cleans up the toilet and makes him another cup of tea, and Kokichi comes dangerously close to crying.

“You’re so nice to me,” he complains, when they’re back on the couch again, curled up under the blanket. “I hate it. I hate you. Y-you’re a terrible person, and flatmate, and you’re a disappointment to everyone who knows you, I bet. I bet your uncle-”

“Kokichi.” Shuichi says it before Kokichi can finish the terrible sentence he doesn’t mean. 

Kokichi looks away, not wanting to see him scowl or glare, or worse, cry, but Shuichi doesn’t. He just pulls Kokichi into a hug and turns on another movie.

**you: dont come tonight, am hanging with shu. its alg**

**ace: are you sure, boss?**

**You: pinky promise.**

\--

A few days later, Kokichi’s concussion is mostly cleared up except for the odd headache every now and then. His hip and back still hurt like fuck, but it’s better than before, at least. 

Shuichi is still hovering over him like a mother hen, so much so that he’s skipped work twice. Kokichi forces him to go on the third day, but when he gets home he fusses over Kokichi’s “fever” and makes him promise that he was okay on his own.

So two days later, when they’re in the middle of a game of chess and Shuichi gets a call asking him to come hang out, Kokichi can already tell he’s going to decline.

Before he can, Kokichi reaches over and snatches the phone out of his grip. “Hi, this is Shuichi’s roommate. He’ll definitely be there. Where and what time?”

“Ouma?”

It’s truly a miracle that Momota remembers his name, as wasted as he was when they met. “That’s me.”

“Oh, hey! Do you wanna come too?”

Kokichi can’t think of anything he’d rather do less than hang out with Loud Momota and his murder girlfriend while he’s got a pounding headache, but he probably won’t be able to coax Shuichi out otherwise. “Sure.”

“Awesome! Okay, so we’re meeting at this really cool cafe, it’s-”

Half an hour later, Kokichi has been bundled into a coat despite it being summer, and the two of them are arriving to a very hip cafe. Immediately, Shuichi is waved over, Momota shouting something obnoxiously cheerful. 

As Shuichi drags Kokichi behind him, he takes a moment to look at the people sitting at the table. Akamatsu, Momota, and murder girl, pretty much what he expected. He takes a seat between Akamatsu and Shuichi, then quickly pulls off his coat. It’s already too hot in the long-sleeved shirts he’s forced to wear thanks to that asshole, brick-wielding dickhead. 

“Hey, Ouma-kun! Nice to see you again.” Akamatsu waves. Her eyes are bright, pinky-purple, and they widen as she leans in, like she’s interested in everything he’s got to say. “Shuichi said you were sick recently! Are you feeling better?”

“No, the cancer is still there. Terminal, they think,” he informs her flatly.

Her jaw drops- silence settles on the table, and she looks so upset that it’s genuinely quite funny. But then Saihara, nudging him, says “Kokichi, stop lying,” all soft and fond and melty.

Kokichi sticks his tongue out. “You’re no fun,” he complains.

Across the table, murder girl stabs a piece of bread with vicious precision. 

Momota starts talking about his space classes or whatever, and then about a new workout routine he and “Harumaki” are trying. Kokichi assumes this is murder girl’s name. She certainly glares harder when he says it. 

A waitress comes by and they all order, and then Akamatsu starts talking about her gig playing piano at this nearby restaurant, and Kokichi sits there very politely and pretends he hadn’t robbed it a few months ago. Shuichi asks about her roommate, and then they get a new fun conversation about a person Kokichi doesn’t know at all.

He can’t really contribute to the dialogue at all, so he doesn’t say much. Which is weird, because usually he’s perfectly happy to say whatever crosses his mind, whether people want to hear it or not. But right now, he’s just happy to watch Shuichi talk with his friends about their classes and their jobs, and his progress saving for the flat. Normal, friendly things that usually bore him to tears.

Maybe he’s still a bit concussed. Maybe he’s distracted by how nice his milkshake is. Maybe Shuichi just looked particularly good in that lighting, practically glowing, his face and lips flushed as he laughed at something Akamatsu said.

When they leave, Shuichi mumbles, “sorry, we talk a lot.”

And Kokichi says, “no, I enjoyed it,” and it’s not a lie.

\--

Kokichi loves his goons, truly. But it is a bad day when he has to ask Mage to read his cards.

It’s not Kokichi's fault, really, it’s just that- Shuichi has been weird about looking after him. Weird enough that Kokichi can’t quite tell if it’s out of concern or guilt. He knows, logically, that Shuichi doesn’t know, because if he did, Kokichi would be locked up right now, but- still. He could only take so many days of being comforted and served soup in bed and having Shuichi send him little ‘get-well-texts’ while he was at work. He was going to go crazy if he didn’t get some reassurance that Shuichi still didn’t know. (And he didn’t want to ask for that, didn’t want to admit it was even a concern.)

Mage and Jack live in a motel room turned flat. The room is tiny and lit only by flashing, colored fairy lights, the blinds drawn so Mage can really ‘connect’ with the cards. Clothes are strewn everywhere, the bathroom door is open, a kettle resting on the sink while it boils next to a microwave, because the pair can’t afford a kitchen. Kokichi thinks back to his flat with Shuichi, the too-big kitchen, the ridiculous comfort of it all, Shuichi standing at the oven in his stupid fluffy socks, humming along to jazz on the radio, still smelling like tobacco.

“Ah, yep,” Jack says, sliding a cup of chai over the table as they sit down next to Mage. “You’re definitely in love.”

Kokichi glares at them, and earns a laugh in response. He digs his fingers around the mug (his mug, the fox one that they keep just for him even though they barely have room to shelve it) as he breathes in the smell. Jack makes great tea. Comes with being in love with a spiritual, kitschy boy, he supposes, even if Kokichi just watched them microwave this mug of milk and tea leaves at radioactive levels before dumping in an assortment of open spices and sugar. “Mage didn’t even read the cards yet,” he complains.

Mage smiles, obediently pulling over a deck of tarot cards and beginning to shuffle them. The room smells like blackberry candles. “What kind of spread do you want?” He asks, closing his eyes as he shuffles. He probably knows the texture of every individual card by heart. Weirdo.

Kokichi sighs. The last time he had his cards read, it was because he was having a minor psychotic break and was convinced his recurring nightmares were a sign from an eldritch god. Mage, for all his hokey-ness, had calmly read the cards and then recommended medication and a break from thieving. He’s kind of hoping he’ll give him the same, gently-phrased advice of ‘break your lease and run away’, and that Jack will sit there and nod along comfortingly. “I don’t know... something that tells me what to do, I guess? _Not_ a romance one. Just- tell me what Shu- Saihara’s thinking, if you can.”

“I can’t tell you his thoughts exactly, but I can tell you what they mean for _you_ ,” Mage says lightly, tapping the cards down and spreading them out. “I’m not psychic, you know.”

“You bewilder me,” Kokichi says, because he really does.

Across the table, Jack snorts into their own mug. Jack, like most of the group, thinks that Mage’s cards are a bit bullshit, but they still let Mage read them every night- even when the three of them were stuck in the same foster home, when any sound after curfew could get them slapped, Kokichi still fell asleep next to the pair of them sitting up together and shuffling cards, reading each other’s lips by candlelight. Jack, for all their heavy metal and goth hairdos and adventurous spirit, is a patient, loyal bitch, down to the core.   
How do two people dance around each other for twelve years and never suck it up and confess? Kokichi guesses that after a certain point it must seem too far to go back. And Jack is weird and speaks in metaphors and Mage is weird and thinks he can see ghosts, and maybe the two of them have some agreement that the rest of DICE doesn’t know about yet.

Kokichi thinks they might be happier if they talked about it, though. If when Jack reached their arm around Mage’s shoulder to tap at a card, they left it there. Dunno. He just thinks it might be nice.

Jack and Mage murmur something, so quiet it’s barely there, and then Mage cuts the deck, reshuffles it, and holds it out to Kokichi.

Kokichi works with cards a lot, buys many a pack that he strips the jokers from, but these cards are different- bigger, older, the edges torn and faded, stars painted on their backs. “Pick eight,” Mage says, looking up with dark eyes. 

Kokichi obeys, taking them out one at a time and passing them over. Jack, magician’s assistant, takes each card and lays them out carefully. 

“This first one represents you as you see yourself,” Mage says, as Jack lays the first one down. Kokichi picks another, and Jack sets it across from the first, a gap between them. “This one represents how Saihara sees himself.” A third is placed between and above the two, and then a fourth is set across from it. “These represent how you see him… and how he sees you.” The four cards mirror each other, connecting in a wide circle. “These three…” Kokichi picks three at once, and Jack lays them out in a line, in the center of the circle. Mage points at each one, right to left. “This one represents the action you should take. Next to it, what you shouldn’t do. Next to that, your biggest obstacle. And the last one..“

Kokichi points to a card on the end. Jack picks it from Mage’s hands and sets it in the center, above the middlest card. “This represents the outcome- regarding Saihara, specifically.”

“This is sounding awfully like a love advice spread,” Kokichi points out, as Mage laughs and passes the cards to Jack, who takes them and carefully stacks them up, sliding them back into the cloth bag Mage keeps them in. 

“It’s not, I promise! It’s about identity. And hidden things. And, I got Jack to think about DICE while they dealt them, so their energy should have infused them.”

Jack nods, taking another sip of their tea, red eyes sparkling. “Mhm. Don’t worry, Boss, I wasn’t thinking about romance at all.”

If Kokichi was a slightly more bitter man, he would have pointed out that he doubts that, and cast a meaningful glance between the two of them. He’s not, though, so he just mutters it, smirks at the way Jack’s ears turn pink.

Oblivious, Mage claps his hands together. “Alright! Shall we get started?” Kokichi shrugs, his hands coming to his cup. Mage turns the card. Kokichi isn’t nervous, because it’s just tarot. He knows that it’s a scam, that the meanings are vague enough that they could refer to anything, but he can’t help the laugh bubbling from his throat as the card is dramatically revealed.  
“How you see yourself,” Mage announces, his own voice soft. “The fool. Reversed.”

Kokichi narrows his eyes and sits up. “Jack, you did that on purpose.”

Jack lifts their hands innocently, grinning crocodile-wide. “You picked ‘em, boss!”

“You- sleight of handed, or something, this is too much-”

“Shush,” Mage says, looking as if his entire life has lead up to this moment. “Fool, be quiet.” Kokichi swigs another mouthful of sweet, spicy chai, and grumbles to himself. Mage draws his shoulders up, and Jack leans against him, casual intimacy. “The fool, when reversed, represents recklessness, risk-taking. At the same time, it represents holding oneself back.”

“How can I be holding myself back if I’m taking risk-”

“It also,” Jack cuts in, their voice cheerful and comforting, tucking their head on Mage’s shoulder. “It also represents a man beginning a journey, right?”

“Mhm!” Mage’s smile could blind. “I knew you listened to me.”

Kokichi sighs, tunes out their flirting as he sips his steadily-draining tea. “Okay, I’m reckless and I’m beginning a journey. Is that all?”

Mage considers it, then smiles. “I guess you already know how you see yourself, huh, Fool? Okay, let’s see Saihara’s.” Without even being asked, Jack reaches out and turns it over for him. “The hermit,” Mage announces. He pauses. “Also reversed.”

“Neither of you have particularly good self-esteem, do you?” Jack asks. 

Kokichi laughs, setting his mug down. “Okay, this is cute, but my self-esteem is fine. The card said I was reckless and held myself back. I’m not depressed.”

“It said _you_ thought that,” Jack replies, frowning just a bit.

Mage closes his eyes, thinking. “The hermit represents introspection and self-discovery. It’s a card of wisdom and responsibility. Reversed, though, it also represents loneliness and isolation, withdrawing from life.”

Kokichi picks up his mug again, and he’s only feeling unsettled because Jack is still staring at him. “Why should Saihara be lonely? He has me, bothering him basically 24/7.”

“Might be a different kind of loneliness,” Jack says, looking at Mage. 

“Next one,” Kokichi orders.

Mage reaches for the card at the top of the circle. “This is how you see Saihara,” he says, before flipping it over, and then gasps. “Oh, the two of swords! That’s so sweet.”

Kokichi leans over to look at the card- a blindfolded woman, holding two swords. “Is it?”

“Mhm! It represents an equal match. It represents friendships and allies, but it can also symbolize a worthy opponent. Um, it also symbolizes affection and intimacy- like, a lover who’s on your level-”

“A worthy opponent!” Kokichi says. “Got it.”

Jack, ever intuitive and also probably Kokichi’s guardian angel, reaches out to the next card. “So, this one represents how Saihara sees him?” Mage nods enthusiastically, and Jack turns it over. “The…. four of wands.”

Mage is smiling in a way that Kokichi does not like. That smile should be reserved for kittens, and kittens only. Not grown men. “That card represents home, usually. It can also symbolize joy and harmony- like, being on the same page as others. Specifically, when referring to relationships, it refers to being in tune with someone else- and itcanalsomeanyouhaveagoodhomelifewithyourlover.”

“Next card.” Kokichi swigs his chai again. He thinks he can feel his concussion coming back.

Jack reaches into the middle, to the right card. “This is the action boss should take?” He turns it over as Mage nods. “Page of cups.”

“Hm.” Mage stares at the card for a moment, thinking. “Alright. The page of cups symbolizes sensitivity, new ideas, creativity, emotions. It also symbolizes youth, sometimes childishness.”

“I need to get into DDLG?”

“You need,” Mage says, looking up at him serenely, “to have some more fun. You need to relax, and trust your own feelings, and play with new ideas.”

Kokichi pouts, sinking down in his seat. “Maaaage, I do all that stuff already!”

Jack hums, leaning their chin in their hand. “Maybe you need to do more? Take a break from working in general?”

“I don’t? Work?”

They smile. “You know what I mean. Shall I turn the next one?”

“Do whatever you want,” Kokichi says, unsettled. 

“This is what you shouldn’t do, then.” Jack turns the card, then hesitates.

Kokichi stares at the card. “Uh. Isn’t this one, like, mega bad news?”

“The tower,” Mage murmurs, brushing his fingers over it. He clears his throat. “Total catastrophe. Sudden shock or change. Traumatic events.”

Kokichi buries his head in his hands. “So I guess I just need to not commit a total catastrophe? I’ll be sure to avoid any traumatic events in the near future.”

Mage sets it back down like just touching it is giving him bad luck. “W-well, let’s look at your biggest obstacle. That might give us a hint as to what you need to avoid.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Kokichi doesn’t believe in this, it’s just a good way to get advice without it being a big deal- it’s just fun, messing around. The idea that what he’s meant to avoid is a catastrophe- it's stupid. Catastrophes are meant to be out of control by definition, right? He lets Jack turn over the ninth card, and sips his tea. It’s running low.

“Hm.” Mage looks at the card, tilting his head. “The moon. Intuition, subconscious, fear, anxiety, confusion. Your biggest obstacle is your own fear.”

“Oh, great. Thanks, Harry Potter.” Kokichi sticks out his tongue when Mage and Jack laugh, setting his mug down to cross his arms. “I need to stop being afraid of bugs and not cause a disaster. Great advice, truly.”

“Maybe it’s not bugs that you have to stop being afraid of,” Jack says slyly. 

Kokichi points at them. “Are you reading my cards? Huh? Huh? No? Then stop giving me advice, bitch!”

“They’re my assistant,” Mage says, giving them a sweet look. Kokichi wants to barf. “They get advice rights for flipping the cards. Speaking of, can you get that last one?”

Jack bats their eyelashes and turns the last card over. “The moon... and now the sun,” they say. “Huh.”

Mage sighs. “Oh, good. The sun is a happy card, boss. It represents joy, vitality, happiness, and family. Success, too, and travel. Just a bunch of nice things, like- it’s like a well-deserved break of happiness in your life.” He beams as he leans across the table, spreading his hands to show off the cards.

Kokichi stares down at the card, and it smiles back at him. “Well, I guess I just gotta avoid complete and total failure, and I’ll be on holiday somewhere in a few weeks.” He laughs, the earlier tension seeped out. It’s odd how much better some fake reassurance about your future can make you feel.

Next to Mage, Jack frowns, then leans across the table. “Now, don’t take this too seriously, boss, I’m just saying it because of the particular spread he did, and the focus on Saihara, but I should tell you…”

“What?” Kokichi finds himself leaning forward before he can help it, drawn back in by the odd mysticism. 

“The sun also represents soulmates,” Jack informs him, their mouth curling up into a white smile.

\--

Kokichi doesn’t put any stock in tarot cards. He really, really doesn’t. That’s why he doesn’t make things awkward with Shuichi by obsessively thinking about how much he likes him.  
Okay, he thinks about it, sure, just a bit, but it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just because- because everyone else keeps bringing it up. Everyone else keeps making it weird. It’s not him that’s thinking this, it’s them and their snide words and their jokes getting in his head and sticking there.

Kokichi keeps making lists about Shuichi. He doesn’t know why, anymore- it’s not like he’s expecting to find some new insight into him that’ll… what, make it easier to run away? It’s not as if he’s actually going to get caught. But he keeps noticing things.

Shuichi is good at chess but bad at cards. He’s the sort of person who will make you play rock paper scissors a hundred times, until he figures out how you’re cheating. He likes detective films, but he prefers urban fantasy. His hands aren’t the only things that are always cold- so are his feet, and his joints, and the tip of his nose. He likes to be in regular contact with his friends. He texts Kokichi a _lot_ when he’s out, in proper grammar and sentences and everything.   
The days pass. More details about Shuichi. Shuichi likes holding hands, but is too shy to initiate it except when he’s emotional. Shuichi’s uncle died right when he was in the middle of university. Shuichi’s parents contacted him for the first time in years when they realized he was a minor celebrity for his work in the phantom thief case. Shuichi cares, more than anyone Kokichi has ever met, about so many things.  
Shuichi takes pride in his work. He hates his boss, but likes his coworkers, even if he’s still shy around them. He keeps his cases confidential, feels guilty if he leaves them lying around. That’s why, one morning when he’s running late, it’s so bizarre that he leaves the files for one scattered around the living room. 

Kokichi doesn’t get near them, because he knows he’s not meant to see them. (Isn’t that silly? They’re probably about him, anyway, theories about where he lives and where he stashes his treasures and what his brain looks like.) 

“Shuichi!” He yells, as his roommate dashes around the room, in and out, toast in his mouth like a bad cliche, arms full of papers and his coat hanging off his right arm. “You forgot your top-secret murder files!”

Shuichi slows to a stop, struggling to get his laptop bag on. “It’s fine,” he says, his hair all messed up, his shoes untied. “Just leave them, I’ll clear it up when I’m back later. Just kick them out of the way if they bother you.” He starts heading for the door again.

“Aren’t they like, super top-secret?”

Once again, Shuichi pauses, hand around the door. He glances over his shoulder, eyeliner smudged on his face, toothpaste on his cheek. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, smiling like the sun. “I trust you.” And then he’s gone, whipping out the door like a hurricane, twenty minutes late for work.

Ah.

Kokichi stares at the door, then sinks down onto the floor of the living room, next to the stupid files. He stays like that, still staring at where Shuichi stood just a few moments ago, clutching his own head.  
He is so stupid. His head is throbbing. His heart is throbbing.   
_I love him. I love him. I love him._

 _I don’t,_ he tells himself. _I’ve only known him for a few months._

But he’s known him for a year, ten minute conversations every weekend, scanning the papers for any mention of him, waiting excitedly for the detective to almost catch up. He’s lived with him for a few months, spent hours and hours and- more time with Shuichi than he has with anyone, recently.   
He feels sick, like he’s walked into some cruel trap of the universe. How was he supposed to avoid this? How was he supposed to live with Shuichi, get to know him, care for him and tease him and argue with him and _not_ fall in love with him? How the fuck was he supposed to escape this? It’s not fair. 

Give the phantom thief one thing he can’t steal. Give it to him every night and every morning and every time he feels sick or sad or restless during a heist. Give it to him sparingly, once a week, and then all at once, months of constant entertainment and joy. And then laugh at him as he drowns in it.   
He can’t stay in this house, not with Shuichi’s presence leaking through every atom of it.

\--

Kokichi flies into Diamonds’ flat, up to his ears in feelings he can’t name, except that they’re _bad._ “We need to do something big this weekend,” he announces.

DICE, all sitting together on couches, sprawled on the floor, look amongst each other. Collectively, they bite their lip. 

“Boss,” Hearts says after a moment, very gently, like he’s about to tell Kokichi his fucking puppy died or something. “We…. we think we should maybe tone it down a bit.”

“What? Why?” Kokichi stares at them, at his best friends, his family. “We’re doing so well! We’re a worldwide phenomenon, guys!”

“We don’t need to be a worldwide phenomenon,” Queen says, shifting anxiously, and it’s a lie, because she out of anyone longs for fame, for attention, in the same way he does.

He must have taught them well, because she doesn’t look like a liar, but she is one, because she reaches out and wraps an arm around her brother’s shoulder, and he lies too. “We’ve got each other, you know? The whole world’s attention doesn’t add up to that.”

The thief is growing frustrated, trying to explain to his gang. “I know that, obviously. We’re the most important- DICE is the most important thing. I would never let anything bad happen to the group, okay?”

“But- but something bad did happen,” Spades says, and he seems to struggle with it, staring down at the floor. “And, and I know you’re okay, Fool, and you can do anything, but-”

“I can do anything,” Kokichi echoes.

Diamonds runs a hand through her gelled-back crew cut, a few strands falling out of place as she does. “No one can do anything, you know that. It’s getting dangerous.”

He laughs, the sound sticking to his throat. “What is this, an intervention? Guys, seriously. It’s just a bit of fun. We’re smarter than them, you know that! We-”

“Kokichi,” Ace says, firmly, and his name is like a punch to the gut. “You got hurt.”

And once again, the Thief of Cards is left without breath, staring at The Most Important People. All of them look worried. None of them are laughing.

“I’m fine,” Kokichi says, because he is. “I’m all healed up, seriously, let’s-”

“You’re not!” It bursts out of Mage’s mouth like he can’t hold it back, and he looks like he might cry, clutching tight to Jack’s shirt. “You’re not all healed up, you keep irritating your own scar tissue- if you hit your head again you could do permanent damage- y-you’ve got scars that will never heal because you didn’t let them, they’re going to mark you forever!”

Kokichi stares down at his hands, the scrapes on his fingers. “They’re just scars, Mage.”

Jack, all dressed up in black lace, runs a hand through Mage’s hair. “Boss,” they say, all soft goth makeup and concern. “You need to take a break.”

“No, I don’t,” Kokichi says, growing tenser and tenser. “I need to go bigger.”

“That’s exactly what we’re fucking talking about!” Clubs explodes, jumping up from her spot on the floor, only to be pulled back down by Hearts. “Fool, you’re- you’re like an addict, you just keep escalating and making it more and more risky! It’s like you only enjoy it if you’re in danger anymore, or something!”

He takes a breath, tries not to yell back at her. He’s a leader, a thief, he needs to stay rational. “We all like a bit of danger, don’t we? Clubs, you’re a gambler who gets into bar fights on the regular, surely you-”

“I’m trying to get better! I’m trying to stop!” She shouts back, and she looks-  
Kokichi takes a step back. She’s so worried about him, close to tears, like she’s his _mom,_ or something, and it’s stupid, it’s stupid, he just-

“Boss?” Hearts says, just as softly as before. “Is something wrong?”

Nothing’s wrong. He’s backed himself into a corner in every aspect of his life, but it’s fine, because he can get out. It’s fine, because he won’t let DICE get dragged into it. It’s fine, because the danger is part of the fun, and he doesn’t mind getting caught if it comes down to it.  
Nothing’s wrong. There’s no point in answering. That’s why he turns and runs, and why he switches off his burner phone, the one he uses for DICE business. Because there’s nothing to say to them.

He won’t let them get hurt.

\--

Kokichi runs through the streets for a while, just on his own, visiting places he’s stolen from and places he’s never been. It’s such a big city. There’s so much to look at, nothing to do, all the same place copy-pasted in different colors. This place offers food, this one drink, you can stay here, you can look at things here, you can gamble here, here you can buy things. What things? Anything, it’s all the same, just in different colors and different places and it’s so hard to get lost when you spend your spare time mapping getaways down the side streets.

When he gets back to the flat it’s dark. He just needs some time to think. He doesn’t think he can look at Shuichi right now, but that’s fine, because he probably doesn’t need to. He’ll just sneak into his bedroom, snap at him if he says anything, and that’ll make Shuichi go all quiet and worried, and it’ll make Kokichi feel like shit, but he already feels like shit. 

He creeps up the stairs and through their hallway, and then he pauses, just outside the living room door.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t know if I’m comfortable being on the team if we’re going to resort to that.”

Shuichi’s talking to his boss. Kokichi recognizes the tone, tight and frustrated and concerned all at once. He hesitates, torn between wanting to go and drink cheap alcohol in his bedroom and wanting to know if Shuichi’s okay. That sappy, stupid part of him is annoyingly stubborn, and the indecision keeps him hiding there, creeping in the hallway like a stalker.

A pause, then Shuichi’s voice raises. “He isn’t violent, and neither is his team! They are not dangerous, and shouldn’t be treated as such- they’re thieves, they’re not-” he cuts off, and Kokichi can imagine the way he’s digging his nails into his palm. “Sir, that seems unlawful.”

They’re talking about him, Kokichi realizes. His stomach sinks, and that awful, buzzy feeling returns, restlessness settling in every joint in his bones. 

“I refuse to-” Shuichi goes quiet. “No. Sir, I- _Sir._ That won’t resolve the situation. We need to end this peacefully. People respect him, you’ll be looking at riots if you try something like that.”

What are they planning? His capture, certainly. Morbidly, Kokichi pictures the chief of police sending him to a pyre, lifting his mask before setting it alight. 

“It’ll be a nightmare of a court case if you aren’t smart about it. You’ll need sufficient proof linking him to each crime if you-” A heavy sigh. “No, sir, I know, but I’m just saying that he’ll be back to causing trouble in a few years if you catch him with force. Not to mention-”

Shuichi is interrupted again, and Kokichi leans against the door, sliding down it. Force. Hah. They’re really getting sick of him, huh? Maybe he embarrassed them last time, or he took one too many nationally-favored paintings. Maybe he’s made too many companies hate his guts. Well, it’s a good thing he’s not going to get-

“If you go after his organization, he will drag us to hell.”

Kokichi freezes. _What?_

Shuichi’s voice is quiet, cold. “I know, sir, but it is clear that they care for each other- they talk about him reverently, and the trust clearly goes both ways. When he got… hurt- yes, that was them. They did the smoke bomb, yes. And the grafitti. Yes, they did the eggs, too, sir.”

Huh. He didn’t hear about that. He’s proud of ‘em. 

“Sir, I know you want him locked up, but you know that the charges won’t stick without _some_ compliance, and you’ll never get it if you- yes.” Another sigh. Shuichi’s voice going very stiff. “I understand, sir. I’m sure it won’t come to that.” Footsteps, pacing over the ground, over the floorboard that creaks. “If I see them, I’ll turn them in. I understand.” His voice is flat, dry, and Kokichi’s stomach is falling out. “All members of DICE are complicit, I know. I just-”

Kokichi doesn’t hear the rest of the sentiment. He’s already backing up, backing out, looking for any way out of this house, of this terrible, sickening house. He stumbles into his bedroom and clicks the lock shut, his hands shaking so much that it’s hard to move it right. 

He throws his DICE phone into his bed and stumbles over to his closet. He pulls out his uniform, the one Hearts hasn’t had time to fix, still stained with blood in awkward places. He pulls out the cloak, too, and the mask. Then he digs a little deeper and grabs a lighter, and a knife, and a bundle of climbing ropes. 

For the first time, Kokichi changes into his uniform in his flat, still shaking all over. 

\--

The Thief of Cards stands above the city, his hands still shaking. He’s forgotten what it’s like to be working alone, taken back to his first few attempts at phantom thievery, before he’d dragged DICE into helping him. It’s scary, so scary, the rush he’s been chasing hitting him like cold water. The more dangerous, the more fun.  
This is fun. It’s fun, that’s why he’s laughing, why his hands keep fucking trembling as he arranges his fireworks display. This will be his best heist yet. It better be, since it’ll be his last. A hundred people wait below him, dining and dancing and laughing, their lives so easy and fragile. They know he strikes on the weekend, and they still come out, anyway, and they’re not afraid or nervous because so what if he steals their wallets? If he breaks their chandeliers? If he takes their favourite painting? They can buy another. They can go home to their family and sleep in the same house together, and they can wake up without knowing like they’re running out of time.

The Fool would rather burn himself out in a bang than fizzle into nothingness. 

He’s standing on the third floor balcony of the meeting hall he hit so long ago, when he met Shuichi for the very first time. This time there’s no Ace to rush in at the last second, no Spades to shut off the alarms, no Diamonds to drive him away. They’re safe at home, together, because they’re the most dependable people he knows and all they need is each other. DICE is untouchable, perfect, good. So good, the best people he knows, and he’s shaking just to think of them, it’s creeping up from his hands to his shoulders and it’s all through him now, his body cold and windswept in the still air.   
It’s summer, but it feels so cold tonight.  
He focuses on the fireworks again, because the timing tonight is so precarious. He needs to get it completely right, because there are no backup plans. He needs to make a show of it, be caught smiling, his head held high. He didn’t leave a riddle today- couldn’t risk Shuichi knowing ahead of time. He couldn’t risk Shuichi being here at all, couldn’t stand it. So that means he’s going to have to draw a lot of attention to him and then stall for time before the police show up for one last chase. He wants to kick Shuichi’s boss before they get him, he decides. He’s pretty sure that’s who threw the brick at him, too.   
The thief reaches in his jacket pocket for a lighter and strikes it, the flame flickering dangerously in the wind. There’s a thin line between fireworks enthusiasm and arson, and he’s planning on blurring it tonight. He leans down, holds it to a group of wires, tries to block out the wind, angle it just right-

A scream rips through the air. He looks up.

Shit. There’s a child in the crowd, pointing at him, and now there are others- parents, friends, strangers, all looking up at where the boy was pointing. 

“The Thief of Cards!” Someone shouts. 

“Someone call the police!”

Shit. So much for his dramatic entrance. The Fool curses and shoves his lighter away, gets to his feet and gives them all a dramatic bow, then runs inside. 

This is his least elegant heist, he thinks, running through the halls under bright party lights, slamming into the sides of staff and guests, circling down the stairs and sliding down the banisters, laughing like a maniac as he does. Nobody tries to chase him, too scared, too intimidated- it’s free reign, open season, everything set up for the taking. He runs into the auction hall, people parting for him like the red sea. He runs past it, to the back rooms where they store the loot, and he scoops up anything shiny he sets his eyes on- framed ornaments, old coins, tiny sculptures, all gleaming gold. It’s hard to stash them all in his arms, but he can hear the wail of sirens now, so he probably doesn’t have much time left.  
Where should he go? He wants it to be somewhere dramatic. He should probably try and get back to his fireworks.

The Thief of Cards runs back up the stairs, and he’s already a little tired, the old aches in his body kicking in, but he keeps running. He runs up to the third story and he spots his little balcony, and he can see blue and red out the window and his fireworks all lined up and-  
He panics. He keeps running. He keeps running until he reaches a maintenance ladder, until he has to fold up his knick-knacks in his shirt, falling from his arms as he climbs, one-handed.  
He pulls himself up onto the roof, and he really is a fool, because he doesn’t feel any calmer here. He looks down and watches the police cars framing the building, the officers circling it, the civilians streaming outside.

He’s caught, he’s trapped, he knows he is, there’s no DICE to save him now. He’s balanced on the thin rooftop, his arms full of gold he doesn’t even want, and he knows this is it. The thief stutters toward the edge of the roof, staring at the people below. They’re all watching him, waiting to see him escape, see him fly off, swing away, climb into the sky, fall, fall and be caught and be trapped. He keeps staring down there as he edges back to the hatch, and his stomach feels hollow and awful and he shuts his eyes and tries not to think of how DICE will react to the news of his capture. Because it’s okay. He planned it. One last hurrah, although it’s not quite as majestic as he hoped. At least Shuichi’s not here.

The Fool bites his lip, because he can’t think of Shuichi now, can’t imagine his guilt, his betrayal, the look in his eyes when he realizes the truth. That awful, heavy truth, that the thief can’t run from anymore, not without getting more people hurt.

The Thief of Cards can’t stop, so he needs someone to stop him. He needs-

“Fool!”

A chill runs up Kokichi’s spine. It’s him, it could only be him, but how- how could he be up here? How did he know? When did he get into the meeting hall? The Fool thought he had more time to surrender, wanted to prepare before he came down. 

The thief turns, sharply, twirling on his toe, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t slip and fall. “Mister detective!” He calls, his voice grand and loud, and he’s sure they can hear it below, listen to his last stand, hear every tremble and crack in it. “What a pleasure!”

The detective - Shuichi, he sways on the roof, buffeted by wind, but he remains firm, standing up straight. “My thief,” he echoes in greeting, holding out his hand. His eyes look golden here, blazing like the sun, his jaw set like the Fool has never seen. “Come down.”

The thief wobbles, but doesn’t spread his arms out, doesn’t try to catch his fall. “Beloved Saihara,” he says, and it sounds too much like his own voice. “How did you find me? I don’t remember leaving any notes for you.” This is it. His swan song, his last hurrah. He shuts his eyes behind the mask, steels his pride. 

“DICE called me.”

His eyes snap open. Kokichi looks up, horror freezing in his chest. “What?”

Shuichi steps forward again, slowly edging along that thin rooftop. “I was at home, when I got a call. They said you were missing- that they thought you were going to strike tonight.” His voice is steady, loud over the wind, his feet shifting every so often to keep his balance. His mouth draws up in a short smile, sad and small and ironic. “It was just a guess that you’d strike here, but that’s all deductions are, anyway.”

Betrayal strikes him, and the Thief of Cards draws himself up, pulls his cloak tight around his gold. “You’re lying,” he spits, vicious and wild, an animal that should never be left unrestrained. “They would never-”

“They were _worried_ about you,” the detective says, his eyes pained. He opens his mouth, looks like he wants to say more, but shuts it again, shuffles closer. “This- come down, and we’ll sort this out, okay? No one will come up to catch you until I tell them it’s clear. We can talk in the attic, I won’t touch your mask.”

A laugh bubbles up in his throat, and he drowns in it, letting it shake him more than the wind, unbalance him dangerously. “And why should I trust you?” He asks, his voice still shaking in his throat, humor and joy and fun, this is fun, this isn’t fun anymore. “Didn’t you turn them in?”

“What?”

He watches Shuichi flinch, and he thinks back to their conversation at the party, what feels like a million years ago. _“_ _Every time I speak, I’m terrified that I’m going to fuck up. That my words are going to ruin another life.”_ This is cruel, what the thief is doing, but he doesn’t know how not to be.

He doesn’t want to hurt Shuichi, he thinks, he knows, he finally realizes, staring across from him, watching him struggle to find the right thing to say. He doesn’t. He wants Shuichi to keep smiling, to never look as anxious as he does now, to stop smoking, to sleep more, to quit his job and get a cat and spoon him at the end of a bad movie. He doesn’t want to be cruel to Shuichi. He wants to come down, wants to let Shuichi unmask him and wrap him up and take him home, but he _can’t,_ because that won’t happen. Because Shuichi will turn him in, like he turned in DICE, and it’s all Kokichi’s fault. He hurt DICE, and Kokichi has to hurt him back, even though it's his own fucking fault.

(Somewhere, in an alternate universe, they meet for the very first time in that coffee shop. They go to their flat together, and Kokichi works from home as a game developer, and Shuichi is still working his own cases, not with a boss he hates. And they talk, and they make dinner together, and they fall in love, like that, soft and gentle. Not overdramatic and painful. But Kokichi, in this new universe, isn’t bored, doesn’t run himself out of his own skin, and every tender moment between them doesn’t hurt.)

“You- you should trust me because I’ve never turned you in before,” Shuichi tries, the words getting desperate, his eyes flicking away, because he’s weak, because he can’t complete the one fucking task he’s been assigned. “I’ve never turned in any of you- because DICE is still safe, they’re- they’re at my flat now, waiting for me- for you. We can go back together and see them.”

The thief laughs again, throwing his hands aside. Gold tumbles out of his fingers, rains down the roof, and he can hear the gasps of the crowd, ordinary people scrabbling to catch it as it falls. It’s not true. It can’t be. His heart keeps thudding in his chest. If it is true, it’s just because- it’s just because Shuichi wants to catch him, not them. If DICE is safe, then why is he- “Even if I did believe you, your failure to follow through on your own desires isn’t super convincing, sorry. I assume you’ll cave to peer pressure as soon as I set foot down there, soooooo-”

“I didn't touch them!" Shuichi shouts. "I came on my own, I disobeyed direct orders, I turned off my monitor before I came up!” He looks like he might cry, like they’re back on that balcony, talking about eyes and social interactions, like he’s just found Kokichi playing with a knife, like they’ve just finished a film where the dog dies. “I ordered the team to stay back! My thief, I am going to be in so much trouble if- _when_ you escape, and I don’t care as long as you come down.”   
At some point in the conversation, Shuichi came halfway across the roof, but now he moves back, gesturing to the hatch behind him and holding his hands up. “I _swear_ to you, I will not turn you in, but I can’t protect you if you don’t come down.”

“I don’t think you’ll have a choice.” The thief’s voice comes out far too quietly, compared to Shuichi practically screaming at him. He's too busy staring at Shuichi's face, looking for any trace of a lie and finding none. It's one relief, to know that Shuichi didn't betray him after all. It's easier if it's just the thief's fault. “We are surrounded by police. You’ll be aiding and abetting at least if you don’t.” His lips turn up behind the mask, a matching smile, a matching tear in his eye. “Besides, even if I do escape, you’ll still have to turn me in.”

“I- I don’t follow-” Shuichi starts, but he doesn’t get any further before the Thief of Cards reaches up and unbuckles his own mask.

The sound of the people below them, the crowd roaring, the security shouting, even Shuichi’s gasp of shock- he doesn’t hear any of it. He doesn’t see it, either, his eyes squeezed shut as he throws the mask down, lets it tumble off the roof like that worthless gold. His eyes feel wet, and he shuts them tighter, won’t let himself cry. 

Ouma Kokichi pulls out the ribbon in his hair, too, shakes it out until it curls up like it always does, bunches his hands into fists. “S-” His voice doesn’t come at first, just cracks, breaks, and he has to let out the shakiest breath of his life, far too close to a sob, before he tries again. “So now you know. I- I guess you’re obligated to tell them or commit perjury, so-”

“Kokichi,” Shuichi says, and his voice is unreadable, is just- packed full of emotion, and Kokichi tightens his hands and bites his lip and shakes. Shuichi speaks so softly, is so hard to hear, but Kokichi is dialed into his every word, couldn’t turn away if he tried. “I knew.”

“Shut up!” He opens his eyes, feels the lines pressed into his face from the mask, casts his hands out like he’s pushing Shuichi away. “No, you didn’t, you bullshit liar, you fucking- you fucking liar, you piece of shit-”

“Kokichi!” Shuichi says again, yelling now, stepping forward, and his eyes are so wet and so gold and so heavy. “I’ve known for ages!”

Kokichi can’t respond. How long- why didn’t he- when did he- what made him- why- why- _why-_

“Because I’m in love with you, you idiot!”

Everything goes white for a moment, and when Kokichi can feel again, he’s slipping. He's losing his balance, his twisted ankle stumbling and catching and he's sliding off the roof and Shuichi is screaming. He opens his eyes and sees Shuichi lunging after him, and there is a moment of fear that is like nothing he has ever felt as he tumbles to his death-

But then Shuichi grabs his arm and catches him, his other hand gripping onto a spire like it’s his lifeline. Saihara, detective, Shuichi, hauls Kokichi up onto the roof and holds him close, hugs him tight against his chest. Shuichi buries his face in Kokichi’s hair and sobs, and all Kokichi can do is cling back onto him.

“Fuck,” he manages, after a moment. “Fuck, Shuichi, you’re so stupid.”

Shuichi lifts his head and sniffs, blinking tears away. Kokichi reaches up to touch his face and it hurts, burns, he can’t pull away. “What do you mean?”

“How the fuck- how did you fall in love with- you’re meant to be chasing me!”

“I _am_ ,” Shuichi insists, and something about it makes Kokichi’s heart melt, makes him burn. “I’m always chasing you.”

Kokichi looks at him, eyeliner smeared around his high, holy cheekbones, his uncle’s coat slightly too big around his collarbones, and he realizes that he’s been chasing Shuichi too. This- relationship of theirs, this dance and play and tease, it is the best part of thieving and it has been for a long time. But Kokichi doesn’t know how to want things, doesn’t know how to take something without putting himself in danger. He doesn’t know how to stop burning himself up.

“I’m…. This sucks,” he says quietly. “That I didn’t- that you didn’t- That I don’t know how to stop.” An apology and an admission all at once. I’m sorry it ends here. I’m sorry that it could never end any differently.

Shuichi glances down at the people under the roof and winces. Kokichi follows his gaze and sees a stream of policemen finally breaking into the building. Shuichi looks back up. “I made some pretty dumb mistakes, too.”

“You should have turned me in the moment you figured it out,” Kokichi says. Shuichi laughs.

“I was already too far gone by then. Plus, figuring it out was kind of a gradual process, and when I did…” He bites his lip, looks away. “I wouldn’t have turned you in. But I should have told you. I should have- stopped you, before you got this far.” His voice goes tight. “I’m sorry I’m such a coward.”

Kokichi’s eyes are burning again. He won’t cry. “I’m sorry I don’t let people help me. I- I hurt you. And DICE. I wouldn’t let you stop me.”

“If I hadn’t been so worried-”

“If I hadn’t lied to you-”

“I shouldn’t have assumed you were in control-”

“I can’t let myself be happy-”

They both cut off at the same time. The wind is fluttering around them. They can hear the police bursting through the hall, calling Shuichi’s name. 

Shuichi sighs, brushing back a stray curl from Kokichi’s face. “I wish- I wish we’d had more time. Or that I’d said anything, or-”

“It was doomed to go up in flames,” Kokichi says, raising a shoulder in a half-shrug. “A detective and a thief? Come on, how on earth was this going to conclude-”

“Kokichi?”

_Up in flames._

Kokichi whirls around, stalking over the roof to the west side of the building. He looks down at the third floor balcony, at the stack of forgotten fireworks.

“Kokichi?” Shuichi is behind him now, a steady presence by his side. “Careful, don’t slip…”

Kokichi turns back to him, grinning. “How would you like to be stolen, mister detective?”

Shuichi blinks. “Huh?”

“Well, if I escape, I can’t just leave you here. They’ll probably question you and stuff, and you’re an awful liar. Besides, I don’t think we’re quite done talking yet, do you?”

Shuichi frowns. He looks from side to side. “Kokichi, I don’t-” Then he looks down, and clever, bright Shuichi’s eyes glint. “Do you mean-”

Kokichi holds out his hand. “I don’t have my mask, so you’ll have to be on lookout, okay? Just act really frightened if anyone comes too near.”

Shuichi takes it, and his smile quirks up in a way that’s painfully familiar. “This is a terrible idea, just so you know.”

“Well, you’re welcome to give me shit for it at home.” At home. Kokichi squeezes Shuichi’s hand, pulling the lighter from his jacket pocket. Shuichi does the same with his own, their coat and cloak flapping behind them in the wind, like the world’s most depressing superheroes. “Ready?”

Shuichi grins, and then they jump.

\--

Chief Officer Toyama is the first one to reach the roof, his team close behind him and a curse under his breath. That fucking P.I.. _Saihara._ Uppity and limp at the same time, all pathetic stammering with the interns and his coworkers, and then stiff, stern disagreements with his superior officers. Toyama hates him almost as much as he hates that damn thief, wishes he’d never been dragged onto the force. He’s clearly not cut out for it, no matter how clever he thinks he is. All those meetings with the thief are just chance (and he thinks some of them are fake. No way that dude is meeting the thief every single weekend.)

“Thief of Cards, you’re fucked!” He shouts, as he hauls himself up. And Saihara, he thinks privately, aiming a flashlight at-

There’s no one on the roof. 

“Chief, look!” One of the other officers points somewhere, and Toyama rushes over, his steps heavy on the tiles of the roof. He reaches the section and looks down, and for a split second he sees a man white uniform and his stupid detective shoving him backwards, and then-

Fucking a thousand fireworks go off at once, skimming just by the roof. Some explode sideways, some go straight up, some singe the hair on his chin they come so close. There are a thousand colors in the sky, a thousand gunshots ringing out, and it’s impossible to look anywhere without your eyes burning out.

When the commotion has finally died down to a few sparklers fizzing across the sky, he looks down again, and he sees fire, burning trees with crashed poppers sticking out, people screaming and running to and fro, balconies and statues with ash sliding off. Everything is still just as panicked as it was while the fireworks were bursting, a few members of his team behind him covering their eyes or shouting down at the civilians.

And there is no thief (and no detective) in sight.

\--

Kokichi and Shuichi finally slow to a walk once they’re buried in the city, and then Kokichi strips out of his uniform and Shuichi covers him with his uncle’s coat, and the two of them stand in the cold night air and breathe. 

“I feel like a flasher,” Kokichi complains, and Shuichi snorts as he buttons him up.

“Next time, bring a change of clothes.” He raises an eyebrow as he finishes the last button. “Or maybe bring your friends with you so they can help you change.”

Heat covers Kokichi’s face, and he looks away. “Yeah.”

They walk in silence for a while after that, Saihara pulling his hat low to hide his face and Kokichi bundled up in the dark felt. It smells like fireworks. He can’t stop thinking.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, as they wait at a crossing for the lights to change.

Shuichi looks over. “Yeah,” he says, simply. “Of course I did.”

Kokichi’s breath catches. He doesn’t say anything until the light changes, doesn’t say anything until they’ve crossed the street in silence, until they’ve moved away from all the people and are walking down a quiet road, back to their apartment where DICE, apparently, waits. (Probably very anxiously. They are probably not going to be thrilled.)

“You know I… I can’t just stop,” he says. There’s so much more he wants to say, so many reasons why it’s a bad idea, so many excuses he can’t give. He wants it, so badly, doesn’t want Shuichi to change his mind, but he doesn’t want to hurt him, either.

“I know,” Shuichi says, and his voice is just as soft as it was on the roof, when he was telling Kokichi that he knew, then, too. “But I think you can slow down.”

Kokichi thinks back to DICE, when it was still just DICE and not the Thief of Cards and his Nefarious Allies. He thinks of breaking into abandoned buildings, painting their names on the sides of stores, stealing booze and candy and packs of cards. He thinks about how it was fun. How it was a little bit of a thrill. 

He thinks about late nights playing chess with Shuichi. About waltzing with him, chasing him down an alley. About playing with stakes that are high but safe. Playing with his own heart, holding it above Shuichi’s head as they barrel out a window. 

“When did you know?” He asks. 

Shuichi is quiet, in his thinking silence. “When…. When we danced together. You remember?”

As if Kokichi could forget. He nods. “That long?”

“No. Well, not really.” Shuichi hesitates, then reaches out to take Kokichi’s hand. Kokichi lets him. “You weren’t wearing gloves, then.” Shuichi’s thumb brushes over his knuckles. “Your finger- it was cut. The same way it had been when you were playing with the knife. I realized as the dance ended.”

Kokichi swallows. “And, then you knew.”

Shuichi glances over, smiling in his ghostly way, like he’s still nervous about what he’s saying. Kokichi wishes he wasn’t so nervous. “Then I suspected. I didn’t want to pursue a hunch, though, so I wasn’t sure until…. Until we talked about it. That day, when we were making brunch.” His empty hand comes up, doesn’t rub the back of his neck but rubs his throat, Shuichi thumbing at the skin there. “You just…. You looked at me, when you asked me why I chased you, and I knew. I knew it had to be you.”

Kokichi thinks about it, about all the time since then, about Shuichi’s cryptic comments and him and his boss, and being trusted even when Shuichi knew. “And when did you fall in love with me?” 

“Twice,” Shuichi says, laughing. “Once, the first time we met. Again, the first time we met.” Kokichi can only stare, and it must look as shocked as he feels, because Shuichi turns pink. “I was very conflicted for a while. You made it kind of hard to get over you.”

Kokichi feels like he’s untethered from the earth. “You- don’t be stupid,” he says, and his own face feels hot. “You weren’t in love with me. You didn’t know me.”

“No,” Shuichi agrees. “Not the first time, at least. But I knew you the second time. I think it’s why I fell so fast, and then, when I put it together….” He trails off.

Kokichi thinks about how surprised he’d been in the coffee shop, finding that secret, squishy side to detective Saihara. He thinks about meeting him again, and learning about what he was really like, and Shuichi learning about him. He lets out a shaky, heavy sigh, and leans his head on Shuichi’s shoulder as they walk.

Shuichi glances at him, smiling, then doubletakes. “Ah- Kokichi, you’re crying.”

Kokichi blinks. “No I’m not,” he says, as he reaches up to touch his face. His fingers come back wet.

They stop walking. Shuichi turns to him, takes both hands in his own. “Kokichi,” he says, so earnest and painful. “It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to-” He breathes out. “I know you care for me, and if it’s not in the same way, that’s okay. And- if you need time, that’s okay too, or if this is a surprise, or- I’m sorry, I thought I was really obvious. Ah- shit, I’m sorry, I- I’m saying the wrong thing.”

“No you’re not,” Kokichi says, and it comes out in a sob, and it’s so pathetic that he sobs again. “I just- I’m not going to make you happy,” he says, and his bottom lip quivers as he does his best to hold himself together, to put on another mask-

And then he just breaks. He’s crying, crying in the middle of the street, Shuichi still holding his hands. “I can’t even say it!” He bursts, almost laughing. “I wish nobody cared about me, so I wouldn’t have to f-feel like this.”

“Kokichi.” And then Shuichi is hugging him, and he’s hugging back, and he can feel Shuichi shaking, too. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I promise. You make me happy, honest, all the time. Look at me, Kokichi, look-” He pulls back, even as Kokichi tries to drag him back in, and Shuichi’s eyes, so heavy and burning and as full as the moon. “I’m not lying. I’ve been chasing you for a year, I’ve seen you brave and cocky and I’ve seen you cruel and nervous, and I’ve seen you at home, I’ve seen you asleep and breaking down and panicking and scaring yourself and I still-” He heaves in a deep breath. “I care about you. It’s not an obligation to care about you, Kokichi. I enjoy doing it. I- I’m so glad I met you. I’m so glad I took up your case. I’m so glad that we ended up in this stupid fucking situation, because it’s you.” Shuichi squeezes his shoulders. “I want to learn more about you, even the bits you don’t like. I- I love you, because I want to be with you forever.” He laughs, soft and shaky and uncertain. “It’s just- it’s just like that. I want to see you every day until eternity.”

Shuichi deserves someone who will tell him what he needs to hear, who he doesn’t have to chase. Someone soft and welcoming who knows when to quit.

Kokichi wants to be that for him, more than he wants to steal or hurt himself or get the world’s attention. Because any attention that isn’t from his family- isn’t from DICE, or Miu, or Kiibo, or Rantaro, or _Shuichi-_ it’s meaningless. He wants to be someone Shuichi can rely on. He wants it so much. It’s as scary as leaping from a building with fireworks hot on your tail.

He wants to be able to tell Shuichi what he needs. He supposes he can start with that.

“I love you too,” Kokichi says. The truth rips out of him like jewels from his mouth, thorned roses cutting his tongue. Shuichi starts, and Kokichi knows he’s going to protest it, so he reaches up and covers his mouth, smiling because he can’t not smile, staring at his idiot of a detective. “Shuichi, let me finish before you degrade yourself. I-” He takes in a breath. “I’m not good. I’m stupid and selfish and I think too much. But you- Shuichi, when I’m with you I’m happy. So happy I don’t know what to do with it.” He laughs, lowers his head, lets it spill out of him until it leaves him empty, his stomach still in knots. “So happy that I do stupid things to get your attention, l-like stealing your favourite painting or calling you to a heist or hiding your laptop- that was me, by the way, I got lonely. Ha.”  
Kokichi lowers his hands from around Shuichi, starts fidgeting with his hair, bouncing his legs. “I. I like your hair and how you always have that stupid bit that sticks up, and I like how you look at me- I really, _really_ like how you look at me, I kind of want it forever, and I want you to keep figuring out my lies and teasing me and getting embarrassed when I tease you, and l-looking after me, but not- not in a weird way, I’m not- dammit, I’m thinking like Miu, fuck, Shuichi, stop laughing, I can see you laughing-”

Shuichi pulls Kokichi’s hands from his hair, pulls his whole body with them, and kisses him. 

(And it’s _so_ good. It’s clumsy and it’s brief and it’s a hundred fantasies in real life, and Shuichi’s smiling into it and Kokichi can feel his whole body vibrating with his own heartbeat.)

It’s also brief, and when it ends he’s left frozen and breathless, so much so that Shuichi immediately goes crimson and starts stuttering.

“Oh- oh, I’m s-sorry, Kokichi, should I n-not have-”

“Where.” Kokichi demands, poking him in the chest. “Does. Your. Confidence. Go?”

Shuichi stares at him. Then he starts laughing, and Kokichi, also blushing, joins in, and they’re a terrible, flushed, flustered mess, still holding each other’s hands and stumbling in the middle of the sidewalk like they’re drunk. 

They have to sit down, actually, and Kokichi texts DICE to let them know he’s okay, and that they’re coming but they’ll be a bit late, and that everything is fine, really, and they reply in a flurry of emojis and heartfelt sentiments and compliments on the food in his fridge.

Kokichi snorts, pocketing his phone again and snuggling up to Shuichi’s side. “We may need to restock tomorrow. DICE eat a lot.”

Shuichi, nose and cheeks still pink, just smiles and wraps an arm around him. “Like their leader, then?”

“Did you just call me fat, Shuichi?”

They laugh again. DICE is waiting, but Kokichi needs a moment just to themselves, and he’s sure Shuichi does, to. 

Kokichi looks up at the profile of Shuichi’s face- the line of his jaw, the curve of his brow, his chapped lips. “Say it again.”

Shuichi looks at him. “I love you.”

Kokichi closes his eyes. He’s scared of those words, terrified cold to his center. They thrill him, just as much as they had the first time, not as much as stealing a national treasure but close. He sits with them for a while, feels the way they sink into his skin. He thinks about every implication, of Shuichi being okay with Kokichi not loving him back, of him willing to give up his job and probably face jail time, of him climbing up the roof to coax him down. 

He thinks about their flat, with DICE waiting for them. He thinks about the various treasures he has stored away and the money they would fetch if he sold them for half the right price. He thinks about Shuichi getting the cat he’s always wanted, about hanging photos of them around the place, about games of chess and checkers and treasure hunts littered through the city. 

He also thinks about how fragile that imagined future is, that nothing, especially human feelings, is certain, and as much as he trusts Shuichi, falling into something like this is a risk he’s never taken before, has held himself back from all his life.

He thinks that Shuichi is the one person he feels okay taking this risk for.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your sweet comments and your encouragement and.... ;w; i really appreciate it. i have never written this much for a fanfiction before and it is 100% due to your support and continued interest that i have the energy to add extra scenes and skim edit before i post and..... i hope you enjoyed this!!!!!!!!! i hope it was satisfying!!! im repeating myself!!!!!! please have a good day!!!!!!!!


	5. you've got the right to remain right here with me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Detective, do you know what I'm going to do with this marvellous machine?" He steps forward. Shuichi mimics him.
> 
> "Do tell."
> 
> Kokichi laughs, maniacal and cruel, and dashes his hand aside. "I'm going to destroy it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh. im sorry this is late. did i put it off because i was emotional about finishing it? no. nope. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING TO THE END! this chapter is just pure fluff and very little drama and i hope you still enjoy it, and that it's a nice conclusion to the fic. i literally had a bit of a cry while i was finishing it up and had to take a break.  
> writing this was so nice for me. it's the biggest thing ive written in a while and the reception ive received has just been... amazing. your comments are so kind and i've read them out to my dad and my cat and my brother and im just so, so happy. i really fell in love with this cheesy AU and to hear that so many other people did too really warmed my heart.
> 
> I'm not done writing oumasai- i actually have several new fics that i'm starting up as soon as i post this, and i should have the first chap for one out tomorrow (hint hint its another AU based on some cute fanart) and then i have another that im going to post at... some point, not sure when. I'll try to update those reliably like this one!   
> I'm not done with this AU, either- I'll probably make this a series and post oneshots for it in the future, but as a fic, this is is a good place to conclude the story, i think. im happy with it- i hope you are, too. 
> 
> thank you again, for everything. your comments and kudos and support mean more than i can say. i hope this isn't the last time you enjoy something i write!  
> anyway im rambling. please enjoy! and remember: love is a highspeed chase, racing down the street (woo woo woo) i'm coming after you!

Shuichi doesn’t have a particularly high opinion of himself. He thinks he’s cowardly and slow to act, that he causes problems and then fixes them later and earns praise that should be anger, that he’s stiff and awkward and doesn’t know how to have fun. He’s even insecure about his deductive work- the one thing he hangs his life on, the one thing he felt he had left for quite a while. Working infidelity cases from his house, slipping on his uncle’s coat and trying not to feel the weight of it holding him back, looking people right in the eye as he accuses them of theft or cheating or in the odd, awful case, kidnapping or grooming- and once, murder. And then he would go home and bury his head in his pillow and he couldn’t look at anyone else for a while, even when he got up and kept staring at crime scenes that had closed years ago, people who had died and never found justice, killers who he wouldn’t have to look at. He wasn’t quite sure if he _liked_ his job for a while- there was a satisfaction in figuring things out, linking events together, and he did love when he managed to close a case that people had forgotten about or assumed was untouchable. But he just saw so much shit, the worst parts of humanity, and the paranoia of his clients often got to him, and he’d lie awake thinking _I could have done more. There was a better conclusion to that case. I wish I hadn’t solved it. I wish none of us knew the truth of it._

Enter phantom thief.

The Thief of Cards never had trouble looking at the cameras that caught him from a distance, posing dramatically for their sight. He left cocky messages in purple paint and calling cards at the scene of the crime, and he was dramatic and grand and like nothing Shuichi had ever seen. Criminals don’t usually act like that, except for the most deranged killers out for glory- and yet here was this harmless thief, in his winking clown mask, causing chaos over the city as he stole everything he laid his eyes on, from candy to priceless statues. He never touched anything personal, only targeted chain hotels or corporate events or items that were controversial.   
Shuichi grew a little obsessed. His website updates went from mostly covering his progress on cold cases and advertising his services to mostly covering the Thief of Cards with the occasional cold case. People ate it up, though, and his theories grew more solid and more accurate the more time passed. Shuichi started going to events on the nights the thief might strike, shrinking away from the crowd and looking to the sky (because he seemed to have a particular flair for running to the rooftops.)   
And then, the Superintendent had offered to work with him, see if his deductions held any merit. Shuichi met the team mostly responsible for chasing the thief, and he got along well with them, even if his nervous disposition made them laugh. The chief inspector, though, he never quite gelled with. The man had an appreciation for power and authority and didn’t enjoy being made a fool of.  
Shuichi wouldn’t have minded, if he’d been in his shoes. He thought he might have quite liked a thief to laugh at him and leave him grasping at straws. It would be far easier than having to confront him.

But on the first night that the police called him about a sighting, Shuichi did confront him- sort of. It felt like a confrontation to him. It felt harder than ever to put on his detective hat, to focus on his work and remain confident and in charge. But he managed, and the air was electric. Nobody had ever been this close to the thief before. The thief was small, and as cheerful and ballsy as Shuichi had known he would be, and he never lost his cool. Right when he slipped away, he made fun of Shuichi like he’d never even been in danger, and a part of Shuichi that craved an even fight, an opponent that wouldn’t give up and weep or act out in cruelty, was just gone. 

They met again, the next week. And again after that, and so many times in a row that it must have been fate, that Shuichi started forming a seventh sense that felt as if he could place when and where the thief could strike ahead of time. It never mattered, though, because the thief was always one step ahead, and part of him was relieved by that.  
Still, the chase was exhilarating, getting closer and closer but never close enough, learning a little more every conversation. The Thief of Cards didn’t really care about what he was stealing, but lived for the drama. The Thief of Cards cared about his gang- moved between them like family, clung to them as they lifted him away, smacked their heads and laughed in a way that was far more natural than when he was faced with a crowd. The Thief of Cards didn’t seem to resent him- rather, he enjoyed their chase, darting between buildings and precincts and events, those ten-minute, ten-second conversations always counting for something more. The Thief of Cards never let anyone get hurt, except himself. He had a flair for the dramatic.   
The police hired him, and Shuichi’s days (and website) became consumed with the thief. For the first time in a long while, he enjoyed his work- mostly. The paperwork and the office drama and working with others and his boss and… okay, there was a lot of stuff that still kind of sucked, but the point behind it all kept him moving. He was swallowed up by the chase, met his friends like usual because he couldn’t let them worry, but he didn’t leave the house much other than to get to work, or to the gym with Kaito and Maki, or to Kaede’s apartment.

“Shuichi,” she said one day, as they were making lunch together. “What are you going to do if you catch him?”

“W-well, there’s no guarantee that-”

She’d knocked him gently on the head with a wooden spoon. “Stop that,” she scolded. “You’re a brilliant detective, and you get closer every day. You’ll catch him.”

The thought was sobering. What would he do? He wanted to catch the thief, he did. He also didn’t want their chase to end. He didn’t want to turn him in. He wanted to win, just once, take the Thief of Cards by surprise and win his respect, but at the same time….

“I don’t know,” he’d said. “I don’t know.”

His roommate moved out, in with his new girlfriend, and suddenly Shuichi was stuck, panicked. At the same time, the thief stole a painting of extreme significance to a corporation, and the paperwork coming through was insane as they tried to find someone to blame. He was swamped in work, and rent, and his hands were covered in rope burn after sliding down a tether to try and catch what was starting to feel like a dream.

Enter Kokichi.

Ouma was cute, confident, funny. Tucked up in this big, shiny, kind of hideous neon pink jacket, the ends of his hair streaked with violet, his face twisted up in a smirk. He’d called him out, flatly, on his nervousness, and then teased him until he was comfortable again. Ouma was an absolute mystery. Shuichi had never met anyone like him.   
Ouma liked lying, but also liked getting caught in his own lies. He was delighted when Shuichi joked back at him. He won every single game they played, unless he wanted to lose, and that was because he was a horrendous cheat- but part of the fun of monopoly came to be watching for the tiny, thieving movements of his hands, listening for what sounded like it was a distraction. The only games Shuichi could ever properly win were their chess matches, because he ended up memorizing the board’s layout each time he took a move.   
Ouma had a horrendous sweet tooth. Ouma liked to flirt as a joke, but stiffened up when paid any kind of compliment. Ouma had a lot of friends that he was always disappearing to see, and was still making money off some royalties on a game Shuichi wasn’t allowed to see.   
He tracked it down anyway- it was a fairly successful indie hit. Ouma Kokichi was credited for the puzzles. He wasn’t quite sure if that was enough money to live off of, but then again, his rent was pretty cheap.  
Ouma put up a lot of barriers between them, but he still cared enough to make Shuichi dinner when he was wrapped up in his work, to drag him out of his room under the guise of playing games, to warn him ahead of time when his (frankly, terrifying) friends were showing up. Ouma left childish crafts everywhere he went, but often the simplistic, overly fanciful pictures and sculptures were hiding interesting things- money, tucked in one cardboard dinosaur, a collection of phone numbers written into the blueprints for a rainbow blasting gun. He never let Shuichi in his room. He was comforting and distant and nervous and confident and so many contradictions wrapped up at once.

It was hard not to love him a little bit when Shuichi stumbled home and he was up waiting, not mad despite Shuichi waking him up. When he spoke softly and quietly and he was a puzzle Shuichi wanted to open up, wanted to identify the gears and springs and clockwork parts.  
It was good, Shuichi thought, to focus on a real person and not a thief- because there was only so much weird, pseudo-romantic pining you could do for a criminal you’d never seen the face of before it got weird. Shuichi was a bit hopeless with love, never letting it close enough, falling too easy and then changing his mind as soon as the terrifying prospect of reciprocation came up. But he wanted Ouma to reciprocate, wanted the thief to chase him back. Their voices blurred in his dreams until he woke up with a headache, and all he could was distract himself with work that wasn’t a distraction at all.  
Ouma with the knife. Ouma, restless and mean. Ouma slowly relaxing as they watch a movie, demanding to hear about Shuichi’s life, their hands clasped tightly. Shuichi doesn’t want anything more than this. He feels like they’ve gotten just a bit closer, when Ouma leans his head on his shoulder. There is something there, so soft and human and sweet. The thief is completely forgotten.

Then, not two days later- the thief, again. Dancing. Shuichi is stupid and foolish and he can’t help it, not with the music haunting them like that, the tiny sparks of the thief’s eyes he can see behind his mask like wildfire. It feels like it’s just them, as they argue- flirt? dance, and he thinks about Ouma and how much he wants Ouma to be safe and relaxed, and how much he wants the thief to trust him and calm down, especially after his last, dangerous stunt.  
The music stops. Shuichi’s coat sways behind him. He looks down at their linked hands.  
There’s a cut there, on the thief’s ring finger. He freezes.

The rest of the night is a blur. He gets back home, goes to check on Ouma but finds the door locked, heads to his own bed and buries his face in his hands. There’s no way. There’s no way. There’s no way. 

Good detectives use logical thought instead of their hearts. He’s a thief. He uses his hands a lot, they’re reasonably at risk. He didn’t get a close enough view to confirm that it was the same scar. The lighting was unusual. There is no confirmation here, just a hunch, and he cannot confront someone off a hunch.   
If Ouma really is the thief, then why would he room with Shuichi? That thought injects some sense into him, and he holds back.

He doesn’t let the theory infiltrate their home. It’s not too hard, to let himself get distracted around Ouma, to fall into an easy, natural friendship where they banter and help each other and oh god is Ouma lovely, his laugh so easy to laugh with, his dialogue so funny, his presence such a reassuring weight in Shuichi’s life.   
He meets the thief again, and again, and he thinks about it then, about how the thief is just a bit taller but he might have platforms in his boots, how his voice is lower but that could be a trick, how he interacts with Shuichi in a breezy, familiar way. He sees the thief with Shuichi’s favourite painting in his hands and he thinks it’s him, and then he goes home covered in glass and Ouma looks so horrified at his scrapes. 

Ouma bandages him up, and doesn’t seem to notice how he shakes as he cleans the wounds. He seems scared, scared for him, and the words dry up in Shuichi’s throat and he puts the thought out of his mind.

Another meeting with the thief. Shucihi lets him go. 

Days with Ouma, making coffee and breakfast and teasing each other. The party.

They stand on the balcony and Shuichi cries and Ouma holds his hand and his heart aches. They talk about the thief and it breaks a little, and Shuichi hopes it isn’t Ouma, hopes it’s not him, hopes that they can have something simple and nice here, in the night air.

The thief doesn’t strike that weekend. They have a lazy few days together, recovering from their hangovers, bossing each other around. Kokichi starts using his first name. Shuichi follows. Life is lazy and good and summer is really hitting now, so they dance around, Kokichi in barely anything, so Shuichi can see the scars low on his back, on his arms, the sweat in the dip of his neck, and it is too sticky and summer to be sexual, to be anything but soft as he watches Kokichi sing.

They make brunch. Kokichi goes quiet. Kokichi asks why he’s chasing the thief, his voice tremulous as one of Kaede’s high notes, and Shuichi knows. 

He knows, and he knows, and he doesn’t do anything about it, doesn’t know how to. Kokichi gets hurt and he watches, watches his pig of a boss throw a brick at Shuichi’s fucking roommate, his thief, his- everything. And then Kokichi has stumbled off before Kokichi can reach him, blood trailing down the street, and Shuichi follows the trail until it stops and then he sinks down and has a full on panic attack, like he hasn’t in years.   
Shuichi goes home late, after fucking screaming at his boss for using that level of violence, and he- he’s fully expecting to get fired, frankly, even though he was actually hired by the superintendent and he’s in the right here, because Kokichi is nonviolent and he’s Kokichi, because he doodles cats on Shuichi’s paperwork and laughs so hard he snorts, because he’s got fluffy hair and a smile that’s all teeth and he doesn’t know when to quit.

Shuichi doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, he just tries to look after Kokichi, and it feels like it’s okay for a while, like Kokichi is sinking into him, slowly healing, relaxing, like a little of his nervous energy has been burned away. Kokichi comes to lunch with Shuichi’s friends, and he’s thoughtful and quiet, but he still smiles as they leave and there’s no trace of a lie on his face. Things are comfortable and a little awkward but in a soft way, for a while. They play chess and eat apple slices, and somehow all the shameful, dirty, sad parts of Shuichi’s past come seeping out of him like tea, and Kokichi drinks them up and makes him feel better with dumb jokes and small gestures.

And then one day, Shuichi goes to work leaving his papers all strewn about, and he comes home and Kokichi isn’t there for the first time in a while. The place feels lonely, tired, and when he gets a call from his boss he almost hangs up, already tired.

“Saihara Shuichi speaking.”

A snort. “I know it’s you, Saihara. I fucking called.”

A pleasure as always. Shuichi runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, sir. What were you calling about?”

“We’re deciding to up the ante, Saihara. This isn’t working.”

“What’s not working?” Shuichi walked over to the window, leaning against it.

“Fucking everything we’re doing!” His boss’s voice floats through the phone, tight with rage. “We’re resorting to new tactics. The Thief of Cards is to be stopped no matter what. This includes permission to injure.”

Shuichi’s stomach drops. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t know if I’m comfortable being on the team if we’re going to resort to that.”

“Our current tactics aren’t working. We need to get more aggressive if we’re going to catch him.” The man’s voice is almost bored, except for the frustration running through it. “Saihara, your deductions aren’t worth anything if they don’t get us our man. I would have fired you last weekend if it were up to me, because so far you seem to have been pretty fucking useless.”

Shuichi bites back a retort about how _I’m literally the only one who gets even remotely close to him._ “He isn’t violent, and neither is his team! They are not dangerous, and shouldn’t be treated as such- they’re thieves, they’re not-”

He’s cut off, the chief’s voice dropping low. “They’re thieves. As far as I see it, they deserve everything that’s coming to ‘em.”

Shuichi digs his nails into his palm. “Sir, that seems unlawful.” White hot rage is boiling in his stomach, but he needs to be calm about this if he has any chance of talking him out of it.

“Unlawful? They’re fucking criminals, do you have any idea of how many millions of dollars they’ve just- disappeared? Saihara, you will chase that thief, and you will do whatever it takes to get him down. You’re stronger than him, just tackle him down.”

“I refuse to-” 

“Then the rest of us will have to shoot him as soon as we’ve got him in our sights.” 

Shuichi’s chest constricts. _No._ “No. Sir, I- Sir. That won’t resolve the situation. We need to end this peacefully. People respect him, you’ll be looking at riots if you try something like that.” He has to sit down, has to force himself to breathe.

“It’s one thief and he’s not exactly well-liked. He’s ruining the crime statistics of the whole country, single handedly!” A pause. “Well, him and his gang.”

“It’ll be a nightmare of a court case if you aren’t smart about it. You’ll need sufficient proof linking him to each crime if you-” 

“That’s your job, isn’t it? Find a way to prove it was him every time. Not my problem.”

“No, sir, I know, but I’m just saying that he’ll be back to causing trouble in a few years if you catch him with force. Not to mention-”

“Saihara.” Shuichi shuts up, listening to the anger in the man’s voice, a rage that he’s only heard in the worst of cornered criminals. “I don’t give a shit. I’ll have him shot again then, too. And every single member of his little gang. Every one of them are fair game, as far as I’m concerned.”

Shuichi thinks about Kokichi’s soft discussion of his old friends, the way the phantom thief hangs onto his compatriots, the girl who dropped off Kokichi’s stuff the first time he moved in. “If you go after his organization, he will drag us to hell.”

“Please. They’re a gang of criminals, they’re probably all replacable to him.”

Shuichi feels detached from his body, too furious to be angry. “I know, sir, but it is clear that they care for each other- they talk about him reverently, and the trust clearly goes both ways. When he got… hurt-”

“Was it them that started that fucking smear campaign about us?”

Shuichi sighs, biting back the anger in his voice. “yes, that was them.”

“What about the-”

“They did the smoke bomb, yes. And the graffiti.”

“And the-”

“Yes, they did the eggs, too, sir.”

“All the more reason! They’re all complicit, they are all fucking going down.”

There is a very strong urge to start screaming. Shuichi pushes it aside, tries to sound as reasonable as possible. “Sir, I know you want him locked up, but you know that the charges won’t stick without some compliance, and you’ll never get it if you-”

“Saihara. Listen to me closely.”

“Yes.” he breathes out all in a rush, in lieu of a shout.

His boss’ voice is a dark, quiet thing. Devilish. “If you haven’t caught those rats in the next, mm, month? I’m going to kill them.”

“I understand, sir. I’m sure it won’t come to that.” Shuichi’s mouth is dry. He stands up, starts pacing over the floor, tries to think of a way out of this. He’ll find a way out. “If I see them, I’ll turn them in. I understand. All members of DICE are complicit, I know. I just… I’ll try to bring them in peacefully.”

“As long as you do it.”

His boss hangs up, and Shuichi is left standing there, in the center of his living room, trying to decide what to do. The answer comes almost instantly- tell Kokichi. That’s all he can do, he’s got to tell Kokichi, and hope…. And hope it doesn’t ruin anything. Shuichi flexes his wrists and tucks his phone away, then moves to stand by the window, trying to decide how to broach it. 

Before he can even begin to design a strategy, he gets another call. This one from an unknown number.

He picks up, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah, Saihara Shuichi here, maybe not the best time-”

“Saihara?” It’s a girl’s voice, one that might sound rich and smooth if it weren’t for the undercurrent of worry trembling around it. He can hear other voices in the background, murmuring, people shuffling around. “Hi. My name is Hirano Minako, but I usually go by, ah, Diamonds.” A nervous laugh ripples through the speaker. “I’m a part of DICE.”

“DICE?” Shuichi blinks, turning away from the window. “Is- is this a joke?”

“Saihara, it’s about Foo- Kokichi.” Her voice constricts, tightly. “He ran off, and he- okay, first of all, he’s- guys, should we really tell him this?” The last part is muffled as if she’s turned away from the phone.

Suddenly, another person is speaking, their voice low and calm. “Hey, Saihara. This is Ace. Your roommate is the Thief of Cards.”

“I- I knew that,” Shuichi says, licking his lips. 

“You-” A bunch of murmuring starts up, so loud that he can hear it. “You knew?”

“Yeah, I - I’m not going to turn him in. I was just about to tell him, actually.” Shuichi starts rubbing the back of his neck, fidgeting with the short hairs there. “Is- is everything okay?”

“No.” Ace’s voice is tight. “He just ran off. We think… we think he’s going to do something stupid.”

“Like what?” Shuichi’s stomach drops. He rushes over to his laptop and mess of papers, hastily turning them over and reaching for a pen. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s… he’s been restless, lately. He keeps escalating, and we told him we wanted to dial it back, and then he ran away.” Their voice shakes just a bit. “We should’ve… we didn’t phrase it as well as we should have.”

Shuichi’s taking notes in frantic shorthand, phone tucked on his shoulder, pressed up to his ear. “You think he’s going to pull a heist tonight?”

Ace is quiet for a while. “I’m not sure,” they say, eventually. “But something stupid.” Distantly, in the background, someone wails something about “the cards!” but Shuichi tunes it out.

“Where?”

“Somewhere dramatic.” Ace laughs, quietly. “He’s unpredictable.”

And normally Shuichi would agree, but he’s been chasing Kokichi for a year and he’s learned a lot. He flicks through the files, pulls out a list of all the places he’s struck, scans the highlighted ones for notable conversations they’ve had.  
His eyes flick up to the very first. Shuichi bites his lip. 

“I- I’ll go get him,” he says, standing up on shaky legs. “I’ll bring him home, safe, I promise.”

“Hey.” Ace’s voice is still nervous, but they seem to pull themselves together. “If you fuck him over, we kill you.”

For some reason, that’s more comforting than any assurance. Shuichi smiles as he pulls on his coat. “I know.”

\--

“Here with detective Saihara Shuichi, reporting on the case of the phantom thief. Saihara, is it true that you’re giving up the chase?”

Saihara sits stiff on the leather couch, his knees drawn up tight. He looks perfectly confident- stern, imposing, the classic figure of a man of the law, out to get his man. “Not giving up, exactly. When he captured me, we had a long discussion, and eventually came to the conclusion that it was becoming tiresome for both of us. The Thief of Cards has agreed to step down and return some of his more important items, and I see no reason to pursue him further. The rest of my team disagreed, so I had to respectfully step down from my position as an investigator.” He sounds so reasonable, like it’s the obvious decision. Detective Saihara might as well have got his man- he talked the thief down. He won. A sigh of relief is breathed through the nation’s wealthy.

“And do you truly think that he is going to stop, just like that?”

“It was a grand finale for him, I think. I know that some-” a brief twitch of his eye- “Think that justice and comeuppance are more important than safe conclusions. But I truly believe that- in the case of nonviolent crime, of course- the best conclusion is one that both parties can agree to.”  
If you didn’t know him, you might think detective Saihara was brave, crazy, composed, a genius you can’t decipher. You might think he seemed perfectly at ease on national television, calmly explaining why he quit his job and was once again working his own schedule. Why he had given up on a man he had been chasing for almost a year.

“It’s not just the agreement with the thief himself.” Saihara says, opening his hands as he explains. “There were… disagreements on the team itself. I really don’t have the proper training or experience to be working in a team like I was. I think it was a good time for things to end.”

A collective “aw” goes around the studio audience, and he laughs. If you didn’t know him, you might not notice the slightly hysterical note to it, the anxious way he rubs the back of his neck, how his throat bobs when he swallows.  
“Um,” Saihara says, after the presenter has questioned what he’s going to do next. “I’m returning back to my website. I think I want to focus on cold cases again; it’s important to me that they get solved, and while the police are prioritizing active work, I’m happy to look through the past and try and bring some closure to the cases, or at least to file them down. I plan to document my investigations on my website, and maybe open up a sponsorship system for people who would like to watch me work. Aside from that, I believe I’ll start taking personal cases again, although not as often as I once did.”

Detective Saihara explains what he’s planning, what he’s passionate about, and if you didn’t know him you might not think much of the way his eyes light and his hands twitch around, subdued joy in his movements. The conversation quickly switches back to the Thief of Cards, asking for a detailed description of their standoff, if Saihara had any other theories, if he truly, really, thought it was over.

Shuichi leans over the back of the couch and grabs the remote, switching off the tv. “Stop that,” he mumbles. “It was bad enough being there, I don’t want to have to listen to it again.”

Kokichi, sprawled on the couch, turns and leans up to kiss Shuichi’s cheek, speaking lowly into his ear. “But I think you look so _handsome_ talking about how I’ve defeated you.”

Shuichi turns bright, brilliant red, and pulls away, tucking his hat over his eyes. “You need to stop using my attraction to you to win arguments,” he mumbles. “And you didn’t defeat me, shut up.”

Kokichi hums happily, pulling at Shuichi’s arms, trying to drag him over the couch. Shuichi complies, tipping himself over and tumbling, clumsy and lanky and all long limbs everywhere. Kokichi narrowly avoids getting a foot in the face and laughs as Shuichi sits himself up. “Suuure, whatever you say.” He shuffles over as soon as Shuichi’s sitting down, and inserts himself in the detective’s lap, tucking his knees to the side so he can twist around and look up at him. “But to me it seems like you were drawn in by my charms, just like I’d planned all along. I managed to manipulate you right into the palm of my hand.” He puts on his thief voice, gives a maniacal laugh, and Shuichi just sighs fondly and tucks his chin in Kokichi’s hair. 

Oh. It’s nice. They’ve been…. Dating, he guesses, for a whole week now, but it still takes him by surprise. Still makes his stomach chest and his heart start running ahead of him. 

Kokichi folds himself up smaller and twists his fingers into Shuichi’s cotton shirt. “I think you’re the one who’s caught, Shuichi.”

Shuichi lifts his head, his eyes all soft and dusky. “You’re right,” he agrees, easily. “Look at me, I’m all trapped in your grasp. I couldn’t get away if I tried.”

“Oh, please, don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you.” Kokichi tilts his head back, stares up at Shuichi as fiercely as he would from behind a mask.

“I’m so sorry. Would you prefer I started defending myself in a fight I can’t win?”

Kokichi grins, crossing his arms. “Who says you can’t win? I mean, definitely not with that attitude, but…”

“Kokichi.” Shuichi grins back, a little pink. “I will never win your nonsense arguments. I’ve had to accept that now.” 

“Nonsense? Shuichi, how could you! My tender feelings-” Kokichi flops backwards, tumbling out of Shuichi’s lap and rolling off the couch. He moans as he hits the floor, squirming about and clutching his chest. “Cruel Shuichi- how could he say that…. Like nothing I say matters.”

Shuichi rests his elbow on the arm of the couch, placing his chin in his hand and watching Kokichi like he’s a flickering fireplace, a kitten playing with string. “This is another nonsense argument. I can’t win when you don’t actually care about the point you’re making.”

He abruptly stops squirming and sits up, sending another dark scowl over to Shuichi. “Not fair. How am I supposed to stay entertained if you won’t indulge me?”

A laugh, warm and soft and fluttering in the room. “I’m sure you’ll find a way, Kokichi,” Shuichi says, and his eyes are so full of light that Kokichi has to look away or burn up. In his peripheral vision, he sees Shuichi’s hands held out, and he takes them, still looking away, lets Shuichi haul them both to their feet. “For starters, you could tell me all about your plans for the weekend.”

“Nice try.” He’s finally able to look up at that, smirking. “You’ll just have to wait and see, mister detective.”

Shuichi links their thumbs together, slowly lifts his fingers. Kokichi recognizes the gesture and lifts his own, threading them together tighty. “Worth a try,” Shuichi laughs. “You can’t blame me for being nervous, can you?”

Kokichi steps backward, pulls Shuichi with him, and Shuichi steps left at the same time he does, a slow three-step dance in their living room, their hands linked, no music playing. “I promise,” Kokichi says, his voice coming out a little low and sticky- like it’s somewhere between his thief voice and his normal one. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“I trust you,” Shuichi says, squeezing his hands. 

\--

When Kokichi and Shuichi got back to their flat on the first night, there had been a lot of crying. From everyone. Kokichi had fallen asleep in a puppy pile that took him back to being twelve and having just tried to run away, sleeping in an empty building with only his friends for warmth. 

(The puppy pile had been mostly unintentional, everyone falling asleep on top of or around Kokichi, and his eyes had grown heavy, and he was tired and soaking into the floor, all burned out. Shuichi, sitting at the counter, had set down his coffee cup and moved to the door, probably wanting to give them some space.  
“Wait,” Kokichi had whispered.  
He hadn’t needed to say anything more as Shuichi’s sun-gold eyes had flicked to him, and then he’d walked over and laid down on the floor, a few inches away from the pile of DICE, Kokichi too covered up to cuddle. But he’d reached his hand through all those sleeping bodies and picked up Kokichi’s, and they’d closed their eyes together, like that.)

It was nice. It was really nice, the pressure of his friends, Shuichi’s hand in his. The next morning, Jack had made them all tea and Clubs had fixed breakfast and they’d turned on the television and watched the shaky footage of the detective and the phantom thief’s last standoff.   
Predictably, Shuichi had had to call into work, explaining that he’d woken up at home after an in-depth conversation with the thief, and… he’d done a decent job of lying, actually, giving Kokichi a quick hug before he headed into work. 

And DICE had had to leave, too, leaking out of the apartment one by one, heading through the door, through the windows, leaving him hugged and kissed and his hair all messed up.

Before Jack had left, though, they’d paused by the door and pointed at him. “You know we’re gonna have to talk about this, right?”

“Yeah,” Kokichi had sighed. “I know.” He’d watched them smile and open the door, and had then taken great pleasure in yelling “but only if you finally ask out your fucking witch-boy!”

Jack had practically fled the house with their ears burning red, and Kokichi had cackled happily.

True to their word, though, when Kokichi showed up at Diamond’s flat with his arms full of snacks, Jack and Mage were sitting next to each other on the couch, holding hands and staring at the ground with red faces while the others mocked them. 

“Hey, what happened to ‘don’t screw the crew’?” Hearts asked, pouting, but from the twinkle in his eyes it was clear he was joking. 

“Oh, I gave them explicit permission,” Kokichi says, dumping his stuff in the pile of food in the center. “Right, Jack?”

Jack, in an uncharacteristically pink and fluffy sweater today, had flushed and looked away. “Yeah,” they mumbled. Mage shifted, bumping their shoulders together, and their face had bloomed a similar shade of pink. 

“Awww,” Kokichi cooed, taking a seat on the back of an arm chair, one leg hanging down and the other crooked sideways. “Let’s all take a moment to appreciate DICE’s first official couple.” He leads a round of applause before Clubs looks at him accusingly.

“Don’t distract us with Jack and Mage finally getting their shit together so we forget about how you don’t have your shit together.” She says, crossing her arms.

Kokichi blinks innocently. “Huh? But me and Shuichi just started dating- before they did, even.”

A loud “WHAT” comes from Hearts, and the entire room dissolves into conversation, voices clamoring over each other, clowns scuffing Kokichi’s hair and pulling on his leg and trying to chat, until-

“Guys, come on!” Diamonds stands up on her couch, banging her fist against the wall to get their attention. “We can talk about relationship stuff _after_ we give boss some therapy.”

Kokichi groans, slumping down into the chair. He knows he shouldn’t be trying to distract them, but he really doesn’t want to do this. Really, really.

Spades sits down at the base of his chair and looks up at him with soft eyes, smiling. “C’mon, boss. No one thinks any less of you.”

“Well, I do,” Kokichi says. “I was a pretty shitty boss.”

Once again, they all chorus in disagreement, and it makes him feel worse, makes him look away. “Fool,” King says softly. “You’ve never been a bad leader. You’ve always done the best you could- you’ve always tried to keep us safe.”

“You started freaking out after you found out we were in danger, right?” Queen says, just as gently. “That’s what Saihara said.”

Kokichi presses a hand to his face. “It- yeah, but-”

“But you were also worried about Saihara, too, because you thought he’d betrayed you,” Ace says, calmly, crossing their legs. 

“I mean, yeah.” He laughs, the sound awkward to his own ears. “Pretty dumb to jump to conclusions like that, right?”

Mage frowns. “But you were worried before that, when you came to see us. What about?”

Kokichi swallows. He stares down at his lap, picks at the cover on the armchair. 

“Boss?” Spades says, quietly. “Was it Saihara?”

There’s no good way to say _I figured out I was in love with him and panicked._ “I guess I just realized that- that there was no way- I mean. I’m a thief, and he’s a detective. I just kind of figured out that.” He takes a deep breath. “I thought that it was hopeless. I thought I’d driven myself into a situation that I’d really fucked up, because he trusted me, and I- I l-”

Hearts stands up and moves over, rubbing Kokichi’s arm. He feels like a grandmother with all his children around him in this chair, or a king and his subjects. “It’s scary to love someone that isn't us, right? I- we get it, too.” He glances around at the others, and all of them nod.

“I mean, I’ve got other friends,” Diamonds says, shrugging casually. “But it’s not you guys.”

Kokichi nods, his throat closed up. He loves his other friends, he does. Miu and Kiibo and Rantaro and how they laugh at him and how they’re so easy to speak to. But he doesn’t care about them as- as selflessly as he does for DICE. He’d take a bullet for em, sure, but he’s a naturally self-sacrificial person. He wouldn’t spend the kind of time he does with DICE with them, be so vulnerable with them the way he is with his gang.

Or maybe he would, given time. If he spent more time with them hanging out and making jokes, until the years had passed and they’d developed a trust that couldn’t be broken by anything. He could see that happening, could see himself taking those friends and giving them nicknames and tucking them inside his heart.

But Shuichi was just like that, right from the start, involved in every part of Kokichi’s life, and it was like- 

“He never gave me a chance to not trust him,” Kokichi says, almost bitterly. “And I hate that. I don’t trust people, I don’t trust anyone that isn’t you guys, and then here he comes and-”

Hearts squeezes his arm. “You two fit together really well,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like sappy bullshit. “Whenever… whenever I’ve seen you speak, out of the masks, I mean, you seem like it’s easy to talk to each other.”

“It is,” Kokichi admits, closing his eyes. “I just got- I thought I fucked it up. Like I couldn’t tell him, but I couldn’t not tell him, and I just- I just wanted to distract myself.”

“And you’d started to rely on the heists for distraction?” Clubs murmurs, flexing her bruised knuckles.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t know, I just- I don’t know how to stop,” he says, like he’s been telling himself for a while. “I need the excitement.”

Jack lets out a soft hum, shifting so they’ve got their feet tucked up in Mage’s lap. “But when you’re happy, you really enjoy the smaller stunts. It’s only when you’re feeling… anxious, I guess? Or restless, or negative at all, that you go for the big ones.”

“He does them when he’s feeling confused, too,” Ace says, smiling. 

Kokichi huffs, squirming around in the chair. “Okay, yes, fine. Sure.”

Hearts presses a finger to his cheek, thinking. “So you need a better outlet, then. What did you used to do, before we did the heists?”

Kokichi winces. “Start fights.”

Clubs leans over for a high five, which he gives her, and then she sits back and frowns. “Okay, we need something new.”

“Games? We could have an emergency game night?” Jack suggests.

“No.” Kokichi shakes his head, feeling a bit sick. “I need to- I can’t feel like I’m bothering you guys. I mean, I need- it needs to have a benefit, for you guys, too. And I also need to be able to, um, pretend it’s not related. I can’t enjoy myself if we’re sitting around explicitly trying to cheer me up.”

Mage tilts his head and closes his eyes, thinking. “Dancing? Like on King and Queen’s birthday, we could go out and dance somewhere.”

“That’s a slippery slope to rave culture,” Kokichi says, grinning despite himself. “I’d rather it just happen naturally, I guess.”

“Guys,” Diamonds says, like they’re all stupid. “We don’t need a specific activity. We just need to go back to old DICE.”

“What, keep thieving?”

Ace sits up, pressing a hand to their mouth in a gesture that is so Shuichi-like that Kokichi almost doubletakes. “Graffiti. Urban exploration, photography. Getting drunk in abandoned buildings. Dancing when we want to.”

Spades makes a happy sound, clasping his hands. “Oh, we haven’t done any exploration in ages! There’s some old train tracks we should definitely go picnic at.”

“Man, it’s been ages since we’ve done anything unplanned,” Queen laughs, leaning against her brother. King threads his fingers through her curls and smiles up at Kokichi, his eyes bright.

“How about weekend- weekend whatevers, weekend being stupid, instead of weekend heists?”

Kokichi thinks about it. About before the heists started, before they started going bigger and bigger. Old DICE, exploring and stealing and laughing, causing trouble and running from it, low stakes that felt high because they were all feeding off each other’s energy. 

“This weekend,” he says slowly, “I’m going to set up a- a treasure hunt for Shuichi.” It sounds dumb saying it aloud, and he ducks his head. “Not- shut up, it’s-”

“That sounds fun, boss,” Mage says, not a trace of a lie in his voice. Kokichi looks up, and everyone seems excited.

“What’s the prize?” Ace asks.

“Um, a box of chocolates, but I was going to sweep in and snatch them at the last minute and have him run after me.”

Hearts claps his hands, looking positively delighted. “Oh my god, that’s so romantic. Can we help?”

“W-would you want to?” Kokichi looks at them, and he has so many memories of dragging them into heists and directing them around, and putting them in danger and…

They all look so pleased to be included, and immediately burst into ideas and Kokichi’s heart aches to look at them, eager for an adventure, full of love, human and wild and frantic and his. 

He thinks of Shuichi, and wants him to be here, too, wants DICE to stay over more, wants them around all the time, wants Shuichi to love them, too.

He thinks he will, looking at Mage and Jack murmuring to each other, and Hearts fixing a ribbon in his hair as he chatters excitedly about uniform changes to an uninterested but loving Ace, and Clubs next to them yelling about traps for Shuichi to Diamonds as she files her nails, and King and Queen flanking a flustered Spades, trying to coax him into helping them set up some confetti guns. He thinks Shuichi would be embarrassed by them, nervous, flustered, but happy. He thinks he could fit right in.

But that’s a thought for later, because right now they have plans to make.

\--

The weeks pass, soft and gentle and then full of color and sound, treasure hunts and breaking into old buildings, and having DICE meetings in the big old apartment, detective Saihara coming home in the middle of them and being shooed out because spoilers, Shuichi, you can solve this mystery later. It’s… really good. Kokichi is happier than he’s ever been, drama and gentleness balanced in a delicate act. Whenever he starts feeling antsy, he tries to tell someone- but he’s got Shuichi looking out for him, still watching him, and he usually notices before Kokichi needs to tell him, and then they go out to parties and see what kind of lies people will believe- they go to a club and Shuichi introduces himself, and then Kokichi as a foreign ambassador, and he pretends to only speak German, and Shuichi can barely keep it together, nervous and laughing and it’s such a mess. Shuichi’s anxiety gets to Kokichi, too, as they go about introducing themselves and telling these terrible stories that are only barely believable, and when they leave it’s always with a sigh of relief, and Kokichi feels a little less restless.

Then Shuichi decides they should introduce their friends to each other, spill the news all at once.

“That is a terrible idea,” Kokichi tells him flatly. 

But Shuichi steps closer and wraps his arms around Kokichi’s waist, looking at him with a pair of truly tragic puppy eyes. “Come on, Kokichi,” he says. “Your friends are scary. Let me have mine as a buffer!”

“Your friends will just make my friends more scary. They will feed off each other. The energy will be terrible. The vibes, Shuichi, the vibes. They should never meet.”

But Shuichi is convincing, in many ways, and after losing a game of chess and being smothered in kisses and tickles, and being bribed with cake, Kokichi gives in.

Akamatsu arrives first, Kiibo hot on her heels. They are both delighted to be here, having coffee and cake at their nice apartment, and they seem to get along fine- Akamatsu is cheerful and Kiibo is too socially unaware to be shy, and they’re chatting about some dead musician or something when Momota and Harukawa show up, and immediately the volume in the house raises by, ah, about a hundred percent. (Harukawa is mostly silent.) Next is Miu, placing a bottle of brandy on the counter despite it being three PM on a Sunday, and then Rantaro, fashionably late as always. 

Shuichi hauls out the very impressive coffee machine and Kokichi arranges all their coffee accessories, and everyone makes small talk, except Miu, who’s idea of small talk is telling everyone her favourite sexual fetishes, so Kiibo distracts her by getting her talking about her latest project. Momota and Akamatsu pretended to be impressed and Miu preens, stroking back her hair and pushing out her chest. Kokichi rolls his eyes as he passes over their drinks, then smiles as Shuichi passes one to him.

“Thanks, beloved,” he says, picking up the syrup. Shuichi gives him a smile that makes him consider kicking their friends out.  
Speaking of, said friends are very quiet. Kokichi looks up as he drizzles his syrup into his moccachino and finds all six of them staring. “What?”

Miu is the first to speak up, looking uncharacteristically bashful. “Um… you said…”

“Holy shit,” Momota cuts in. “How long have you two been fucking?”

Shuichi chokes on his coffee and Kokichi freezes up. “We haven’t- we aren’t-!” He snaps, before he can think better of it. Augh. He turns to point at Miu. “Shut up! It’s none of your business!”

“Who pitch-”

“Oh my god, you can’t just ask that!” Lovely Akamatsu is looking at Miu with the kind of stern tone in her voice that unfortunately gets Miu to do anything. 

Kokichi tunes out his friend’s simpering to focus on Shuichi, who really seemed to do a number on his throat with that one. He pats his back comfortingly, like a good… partner? Partner in crime? Boyf- that one makes him embarrassed just thinking about. Maybe they should get engaged just so Kokichi knows for certain what label to use. But thinking about that also makes him embarrassed, and he blames the fact he’s feeling so flustered on his useless, terrible friends making a big deal of it. 

“Oh my god- Kokichi, are you blushing?” Kiibo is bright pink himself, and an absolute hypocrite and a baby. 

“I am not!” Kokichi argues hotly, but no one looks like they believe him. He is not blushing. He’s just hot. 

Finally, Shuichi coughs again, and comes to his rescue, his voice a little raspy. “We- we were going to tell you,” he says, staring at the table, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Um. It’s- it’s a new thing, but-” He looks over at Kokichi, and Kokichi is trying for him, he really is, so he gives him the most reassuring smile he can manage. Shuichi seems emboldened, and reaches over to hold his hand, and it’s still a bit sticky because he spat coffee everywhere, but it’s nice. It really is. “Yeah. We’re dating.”

Shuichi’s friends spark up, offering congratulations and cheer, and Akamatsu mimes popping a champagne bottle. 

Kokichi’s friends, on the other hand, go very quiet. Miu and Kiibo reach into their pockets, pull out their wallets, and pass a collection of notes over to a smug-looking Rantaro.

“Stop making bets on my life!” Kokichi screeches, dropping Shuichi’s hand to slam his hands on the counter. Fortunately, Shuichi just laughs, ducking his head sideways.

“Stop doing weird, predictable shit, and we will!” Miu counters.

Kiibo sighs dramatically, a computer’s whirring fan. “I can’t believe this. I didn’t think you were interested in romance at all, Kokichi.”

“Well, I’m not usually,” he says, trying to defend some incomprehensible image of him. “Shuichi was just really, really pushy.”

“H-hey.” Shuichi frowns. “I was the opposite of pushy.”

“God, I know, you’re so adorably shy.” He reaches over to squish Shuichi’s cheeks in his hands. Shuichi does not look impressed.

“As if you made any moves,” he says, raising an eyebrow. It would look very distinguished if his face wasn’t squashed up like a chipmunk. 

Kokichi releases him with a snicker, flicking back his hair. “Well that’s a blatant lie, Shuichi, I flirted with you all the time.”

“Yeah, as a joke-”

“Stop, stop.” Akamatsu holds out her hands. “Shuichi, I want the whole story. As your best friend, I deserve it. Start from the beginning.” She leans forward, setting her face in her hands, and the others lean in too, clearly excited.

The detective and the thief glance at each other. Shuichi blinks, questioningly, and Kokichi gives him a tiny grin in response, shrugging a shoulder. There’s no way they can tell them, but he entertains the possibility anyway- it would be funny to see their faces. Especially Miu’s, when she realized that Kokichi had been a nationally admired thief for almost the entire time she’d known him.

Rantaro draws Kokichi’s eye as he sits up, still as relaxed as ever, looking rather smug as he finally pockets his winnings. “You met and started living together, and slowly realized that you’d met before, and tried to reconcile your public identities and your private ones, and learn to trust each other and see each other as whole people, and it was probably very dramatic for a bit- no comment on you, Saihara, you seem somewhat stable, but I imagine that Kokichi did something very stupid that drew your attention.” He flicks a pinky up as he reaches for his cup and takes a long sip, Kokichi and Shuichi gaping twin expressions of shock at him. “Oh, and Saihara definitely confessed. Kokichi never would.”

Kokichi closes his mouth decisively. He gives Rantaro a bright, candied smile, tightlipped. “I didn’t know you knew so much about my life, big brother Rantaro,” he says, trying to burn holes in Rantaro’s scalp with his gaze.

Rantaro shrugs casually, taking another sip. He’s smiling behind the cup, Kokichi can just _tell._ “You’re not exactly subtle. Foolish, if you will.”

“I won’t, actually.”

Momota leans over to “whisper” to Harukawa in a voice that can definitely be heard by everyone around them. “Am I the only one who feels like they’re missing something?”

“Idiot,” she says, but her voice is just a smidgen warmer than before. Then she glances over to Kokichi and any warmth in her drains instantly as she points a knife at him (they were having _coffee,_ where did she even get that) and scowls. “Hurt Shuichi and you die.”

“Noted,” he breathes.

“Hey!” For the first time in her life, Miu does something helpful, and leans in front of a spluttering Momota to scowl at murder Harukawa. “He’s not the one who should be worried. Saihara!” And now she’s gripping Shuichi by the front of his shirt, dragging him against the table. “If you ever even think about making Kokichi sad for a second, I’ll invent a machine that follows you forever and whips your ankles, and your back, and your ass-”  
Nevermind. Miu is never helpful. Kokichi slides his hands over his face. 

“I- I won’t!” Shuichi stammers, turning brilliant vermillion. “I, Iruma-san, please know I would never hurt Kokichi. I mean, never on purpose, I-”

“Not on accident, either!” She barks.

Kiibo glances up from his drink, giving Shuichi a friendly smile. “Don’t worry, Saihara-san. Miu wouldn’t hurt you.” His gaze goes blank. “Unless you actually intentionally caused harm to our friend, although I doubt you would do something like that- it wouldn’t be logical. However, in the rare case that you did, I think the natural reaction would be for us to grow, ah, aggressive.”

“Hey, come on, don’t gang up on poor Shuichi.” Akamatsu’s smiling but seems a little anxious, reaching over to break up Miu and Shuichi. “He’s a good guy, I’m sure he’ll treat Ouma-kun well, okay?”

“He fucking better!”

“Your Ouma better look after Shuichi, if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Maki, you aren’t helping-”

“Kokichi has a fragile sense of trust and needs to be cared for!”

“Hey! My sidekick’s got super low self-esteem and is super anxious about messing stuff up- Ouma better not mess with him at all, or I’m going to-”

Kokichi turns to his flustered detective, doing his best to tune out their bickering friends. “If we crept away and went to make out in the bathroom, how long do you think it would take them to notice.”

“Ah.” Shuichi’s face has not grown any less red, but he still gives Kokichi a shaky smile. “About as long as it takes for them to destroy our kitchen?”

“Worth it.” Kokichi slips down from his chair and heads to the door- predictably, nobody stops bickering. He lifts his chin, grins at Shuichi, and knows it’s a challenge he can’t ignore. Shuichi narrows his eyes and follows after him, muttering something about how Kokichi can clean up later.

As they escape into their peaceful hallway, Kokichi catches Rantaro’s eye. He just takes another sip of his drink and smiles, looking far too pleased with himself.

\--

Late evening, crickets chirping, Kokichi in Shuichi's bed, both in their pajamas. They're curled up together, Kokichi's got his head on Shuichi's chest and a foot sticking through his legs. 

"Tell me something about your new case," he murmurs. The summer night isn't hard to see in- he can make out the shape of Shuichi's form under the blankets, the curve of each muscle above, the stripes in his pajamas. 

Shuichi tips his head back, exposing his jawline, like a wolf's neck all long and sharp, turned to the moon. "During initial investigations, a lot of emphasis was placed on the fact that the mother was an alcoholic. It's probably due to the conceptions of ‘correct’ motherhood at the time- that she needed to be perfect- that the crime was pinned on her so firmly."

"Huh. Bias in deductions fucked them over, then?"

"Oh, definitely. Going at it again with an open mind will clear things up, even if we can no longer access the physical evidence." Shuichi shifts into his side, propping himself up on his arm. "Tell me about your game."

Kokichi twiddles with the buttons on his shirt. "I'm proposing the idea of a tarot-based combat system- where you have to make connections between cards and form groups of them from a deck- it's hard to explain, but they seemed pretty keen on the idea. I just have to specify the finer details."

"That sounds really cool." When Kokichi looks up, he finds Shuichi smiling. Shuichi has a lot of smiles and they're all wonderful, but this is one of Kokichi's favourites. It's private but not small, directed at only him, Shuichi's eyes crinkled and his left cheek dimpling. "Did you get the idea from, ah…"

"Mage," Kokichi says and his own voice sounds so fond that it feels gross even to him. "The short, spooky one."

Shuichi laughs. "Right, yes. I just couldn't remember if that was Jack or Mage."

"Which one do you think does the tarot cards?" Kokichi puts on an affronted voice, lifts up his head to give Shuichi a proper glare. Shuichi smiles again, slow and mellow and teasing, and Kokichi sinks back down and tucks his head in Shuichi's chest again, so Shuichi can't see him look as stupid as he must. "Give me another case fact."

Shuichi's hand comes down, threads through his hair, and it's so nice, the slow, lovely petting. "Um, I spent twenty minutes arguing with people about blood spatter analysis on the internet today, and I couldn’t tell them to shut up because they were paying me to discuss it with them, really, but I just wanted to point them to my two degrees and also any updated information about blood splatters. It was incredibly frustrating.”

Kokichi pulls a face. “Should’ve let me come and rip ‘em a new one.”

“I don’t know how professional that would be, Kokichi,” Shuichi says, squishing him a little closer. “Give me a game fact.”

He hums. “Um, apparently my skills are more desirable than I first assumed. I’m gonna… I think I’m gonna try and learn the basics of a few game-making programs, just so I can… y’know, so I can offer actual examples as well as just the script.”

“That sounds like a really good idea.” Shuichi kisses the top of his head, and Kokichi squirms a little, kicking out his legs. “Do you think you’ll make your own, one day?”

He bites his lip. “Ah. Yeah, maybe. When I know more.”

“You should. You’ve got such a clever mind for strategy, and puzzles and stories and drama.” Shuichi laughs a little at the end of the sentence. “I think any game you made would be just my kind of thing.”

Kokichi snorts, shuffling a little away so he can properly look at Shuichi’s face. He has to wriggle up, too, so their heads are both on the pillow. “I certainly hope so, considering we have very similar tastes.”

“In everything but fashion,” Shuichi points out. He’s almost smirking, and Kokichi’s going to call him on it, but then it softens, and he reaches out, placing a hand on Kokichi’s cheek. His skin is cool but not cold, his fingertips chillier than anything else. In the summer night, it’s not unpleasant.  
(Part of Kokichi thinks forward to winter, about how he’ll complain dramatically about Shuichi’s cold feet and joints and cuddle him anyway. About making hot water bottles and pulling out a kotatsu and making hot chocolate, a little bitter and rich for Shuichi. It’s nice to think about, makes him warm, makes him lean into Shuichi’s touch and let his eyes close, just for a moment.)

“You really are incredible,” Shuichi murmurs. “I hope you know that. Everything you do, it just… I’m always taken aback. You are so creative, and clever, and you always achieve your goals and then pull them off with a flair and it’s just… remarkable. I’m so lucky to know you, Kokichi.”

Kokichi wets his lips. Shuichi doesn’t look down at them, just keeps staring in his eyes, a connection drawn between them, pulled tight. “Love you,” he murmurs. It’s hard to say more, but he’s still looking at Shuichi and Shuichi just knows, shuffles forward on the pillows like he knows, how those words are so much and not enough, how just saying them is a thousand compliments Kokichi struggles to give.

“I love you too,” Shuichi whispers into his mouth. They kiss, laying there, Shuichi still cupping his cheek, and it is somehow chaste and tender and incredibly intimate all at once. They’re in bed, in their pajamas even though it’s summer, and Shuichi is touching him so lightly and so heavily all at once, like if this was forever he wouldn’t mind it.

(Kokichi wouldn’t, either. He’d really be okay if it was this for the rest of time.)

\--

Kokichi waves off Queen and King after they’re done scattering camellia petals about. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he promises.

Queen smiles slyly. “Sure, boss. If you don’t call shall I assume you’re, ah, busy?”

“Shut up,” Kokichi warns her, scowling. “The flowers are just my usual level of drama, okay, I’m not going to step it down for-”

“Of course, of course,” King adds, running a thumb along his jaw. “Nothing romantic about this setup at all. I’m sure Saihara won’t notice it, or anything.”

“Just get out of here before he shows up,” Kokichi mumbles, pointing out the door. The twins scarper off, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair.   
Then he turns to the waiting rooftop and draws his cloak around him, waiting, counting the exits. Energy runs through his whole body as he leans against the podium (carved out of styrofoam and painted gold) and the prize waiting ontop of it.

He doesn't have to wait long. Footsteps echo as Shuichi, detective and boyfriend, climbs the metal maintenance stairs and reaches the roof of the old, abandoned hospital. "I think that gave me tetanus," he remarks, voice dry, crossing his arms as he stares down the criminal.

"Detective!" Kokichi crows, stepping away from his pedestal and spreading out his arms. "You're just in time."

A small smile quirks the detective's mouth as he takes one long step forward, his boots clicking on the flat roof. "My thief," he greets, bowing his head. "In time for what?"

"Why, just for me to steal away with my treasure!" Kokichi lifts his cape and then swishes it aside dramatically, revealing the prize on the podium.

Shuichi struggles to keep his stern expression. "You took the coffee machine."

"There's nothing in the world that you adore more!" Kokichi declares, and he sees Shuichi's expression twitch as a laugh tries to break free. "Detective, do you know what I'm going to do with this marvellous machine?" He steps forward. Shuichi mimics him.

"Do tell."

Kokichi laughs, maniacal and cruel, and dashes his hand aside. "I'm going to destroy it."

Shuichi steps back. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I would!" He looks back to it- the chrome gleaming in the moonlight, the embossed letters. "They don't make them like this anymore, do they? Quite literally, I think. This model is no longer in production- right, detective?"

Shuichi straightens up. "I'm afraid a crime as grievous as this will have you in grave trouble, my thief." 

"Will it, now?" Kokichi steps back. The roof is bare and wide. The maintenance stairs are the only way down- if you didn't know about the rope Kokichi had hanging behind him. The moon hangs heavy in the sky, watching with grey/yellow eyes, bright and ever-present. 

Shuichi moves forward. Kokichi back. The detective's eyes dart around the roof, then back to the machine. Kokichi wonders if he'll take the bait.

"Detective?" Kokichi asks, an eyebrow raised. "I'm waiting."

Shuichi breaks into a run. Kokichi copies, turning sideways and sprinting off to the corner of the roof, where his rope is hooked into the side. His feet pound hard on the concrete, each step sending him shaking, and he grabs the rope and drops at the same time, the danger and familiarity of it like a snake bite as his gloves grip down and then release until his hands are sliding down the rope, feet lightly pressed against the building for friction. He looks up and sees Shuichi following, close above, so he pulls his feet back and slips, frantic and desperate, the rest of the way down."  
His feet hit the metal grating of a cheap balcony, and he casts one last grin at the swiftly dropping Shuichi before he darts inside and throws himself into the dark hospital. 

Kokichi thinks that a lot of common fears are stupid. Clowns, for one. The dark. sharks. They're not really scary, they're just hyped up to be. But there is something about empty hospitals, with the rooms all bare and the paint peeling, the occasional desk or bucket left around, that is a truly disquieting experience. Especially when you can hear feet pounding after you, see a flashlight flickering at your back. The hairs on his body tingle, more violent than static electricity, everything pulsing around him and driving him forward until he can't breathe. He knows it's Shuichi, but what if it's not? It's terrifying.  
He's not Orpheus. He doesn't look around. He just keeps sprinting down that long, aching hallway, light at his back and suspense all around him. Shuichi is faster than him, is gaining, and he closes his eyes for just a moment, revels in the sense of instinctual terror that rises up in him, before he opens them again and turns sideways, running down a staircase and turning into what used to be the radiology wing, leaping over the last section of the staircase to keep ahead, shaking the ground shock from his legs as he keeps running. 

Kokichi glances behind him and doesn't see Shuichi, who must be just a room behind. But that's all he needs, because at the end of this room are two more, and another hallway between them. He ignores the hallway and sprints into the left room, smirking to himself.   
There's a hole in the floor, probably formed during the earthquake the shut this place down and eaten away with by rot, and there's a beam stored above it and a rope hanging from that beam. Once again, Kokichi grips it tight and drops down, sliding another floor down. He can hear Shuichi's footsteps as he does, hear him stop, and can imagine the exact way he's looking at the rooms in assessment, giving Kokichi just a second of time. Kokichi laughs, soft puffs of air, as he drops to the floor and begins running out again, through the maze of winding rooms and hallways. He's sure Kokichi can hear him, running beneath the floor, or maybe Shuichi already tore ahead through the hallway. Maybe he heard the echo of steps and thought it was a ghost wandering the halls.

It's frightening in a different way to run through here on his own, without the odd comfort/fear of Shuichi following. He is chillingly alone, his breath roaring in his ears, as he tears down stairs and through rooms that used to house the dying. If anything happened, there'd be no one to see it. If a spirit crept through the floor, a monster lurked in the shadows, no one would know but him. There's a new weight on his shoulders with that thought, a new shudder in his bones, and he runs harder, grinning, throwing himself into the elevator hall, down a dark room lined with cupboards. Kokichi darts down another set of stairs, reaches the base of it, and turns to sprint out into the cafeteria, when somebody grabs him.

Ouma Kokichi does not scream. If he does shout, it was one of warning, to Shuichi. His heart is pounding in his chest as someone grabs his arms, and he squeezes his eyes shut reflexively.

"Caught you."

Kokichi opens his eyes. There stands Shuichi, not a ghost of the hospital, standing in the stairwell and holding him tight, looking far too pleased with himself. "You- what- how?"

He's practically glowing, smug and sheepish all at once. "I heard Diamonds mention something about a hospital to you, so I checked out all the local hospitals. This one obviously seemed like your kind of thing, so I checked it out a few days ago. Did you know that one of the elevator shafts is just a hole? Really convenient for getting down floors fast, although hard to control. I accidentally went to the ground floor." He gestures to the stairs he was just running up, then looks back to Kokichi to grin. "I finally caught you."

Kokichi splutters, pushing Shuichi away from him. "You cheated!” He can't tell if he's angry or impressed.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Shuichi laughs, picking up his hands. "As if it's not absolutely something you would do."

Kokichi glares up at him, his heart still pounding away. “Just so you know, this doesn’t count. You definitely cheated, plus you’re not turning me in or anything, so I’m still escaping, so-”

Shuichi gives him a said pair of puppy eyes that make Kokichi feel particularly stupid for being afraid of him. “Come on, Kichi, can’t you let me have this? I’ve never caught you before!”

He laughs, wickedly. "Never! And you have _not_ caught me, you got lucky, sir. I'm still getting away with that coffee machine."

"Oh, you're in trouble for that, by the way." Shuichi still seems to proud of himself to frown, but he tries anyway. "That was a dirty move."

Kokichi sniffs, tossing his head to the side. "I thought it might give you a little extra energy. Evidently, I was too generous."

"You were wrong, though," Shuichi says. His smile drops from his face, and his eyes are unreadable. 

"Oh? About what?"

And then Shuichi lets his hands go, and presses a hand to his cheek, instead. "There's something else I adore more." A pause. "Well, obviously. It's a coffee machine. But the point is that there's no way I'd go after the machine instead of you. Even as a game."

Oh. 

Kokichi struggles for words, can feel his face going pink and embarrassing. "You can't- shut up, I'm- That's also cheating!"

Shuichi laughs, and steps away, tucking his hands in the pockets of his big coat. "Alright, my thief. I suppose you win, again."

"What?" Kokichi blinks. His cheek feels weird without Shuichi's cold fingers on it. "Just like that?"

Shuichi smiles. "You're always one step ahead," he says. "And you know I'm too weak for you to catch you properly."

"I-"   
Kokichi glances around them, at the empty hospital. This is not how their chases are supposed to go. He sighs dramatically, then hurries over to Shuichi's side, wrapping his arms around him. "Fine, geez, you don't have to be so sad about it," he says, trying to look as haughty as possible. 

Shuichi's eyes glint as he wraps an arm around him, and Kokichi, too late, realizes he'd been played. "So that's one for Saihara, then?"

"Against one million billion for Kokichi, thanks-"

"It's against sixty four. Cases, at least. I don't know how many games you've won."

Kokichi blinks. "You really count them? Still?"

Shuichi's face softens, and he turns to face Kokichi, wrapping his other arm around him too. "Of course," he says. "It's still important to me."

Kokichi bites his lip, looks away. "That- you're ridiculous."

"Are you flattered?" Shuichi is back to sounding smug and pleased.

Kokichi punches his stomach, listens to him splutter, but then that spluttering turns to laughter, and he can't help joining in. They sway against each other, Shuichi still holding him close, and he can't help but lean up into a kiss, his own hands gravitating to Shuichi's waist. They both smile into it to much to keep it up, which makes him laugh, and then they're just leaning their foreheads together and laughing against each other, and Kokichi's heart hasn't slowed down at all. When Shuichi pulls him in again, when he kisses him and this time it's heavy and passionate and they're barely breathing, it thumps so heavy in his chest that he thinks he might die right here. It's not a bad feeling.

Finally, they break away again, and Kokichi sucks in a breath of air, and tries to pretend he isn't flustered. "Fine," he says, as if he's giving a child a toy. "One for Saihara."

Shuichi smiles, and reaches down to take his hand. Kokichi squeezes it, and he squeezes back. "Let's go home."

And Ouma Kokichi, the Thief of Cards, was finally caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think hospitals are purposely built like mazes. i go to the same one on a regular basis and i still dont know my way to my doctor, or to my dad's office.
> 
> I love you guys! please have a good day! please do not deal with ur self destruction issues by becoming a phantom thief!

**Author's Note:**

> titles ARE from owl city no i do not take constructive criticism. (i mean i do but not for the title. that was 11 year old me's will.)  
> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> EDIT:  
> the response i've received from this has really touched my heart in a way i cant explain. you are all so so wonderful and make me want to keep writing for a billion years.  
> zinnabuns on instagram drew some really beautiful fanart that i dont have words for (https://www.instagram.com/p/B-xlv4VAhLJ/?igshid=1sgeezh436bj4) it's! so! gorgeous! i have stared at it for so long.  
> and Jimcloud here wrote just- the loveliest, funniest fic ever. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23544886) it's rantaro's pov on the events and it's so charming. Please check them out! i cannot believe such talented artists both created things based off this au. it's so wonderful. thank you so much, truly. <3  
> bitterphantom on instagram drew! cute! soft! precious warm art and it's so charming and funny and ahhhhh (https://www.instagram.com/p/B-39oEfHvGT/?igshid=1uf8p7d6pnyzg)  
> and pierrotcore on tumblr made! such! lovely! cute! art that makes me so soft inside!!! ahhhh truly i MELTED over how fucken SOFT they are. (https://pierrotcore.tumblr.com/post/615291928196661248/small-fanart-i-did-for-unseeliekeys-fic-youve)  
> all these people deserve a billion loves


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